The Torchwood Jigsaw
by tasmat
Summary: The Torchwood team finds themselves in a dark place,with no explanation of how they got there. Their only clues to escape are the raspy recordings left to them, which guide them through sadistic tests. Live or die, make your choice. Let the game begin.
1. Chapter 1

Rated for character whumping, major angst, and swearing.**This is a re-upload with shiny new edits that make it more awesome.** So if you're a previous reader and some things seem to be changed, they are, because I've gone back and edited all 30,000 something words. **All the chapters will be re-uploaded as they are re-edited.** _That is why the story says in-progress once again. _However, the complete plot-line will still be available to read. But I strong suggest waiting to read the ~*prettier*~ chapters.

Disclaimer: I own nothing of Torchwood or Saw, and, unfortunately, am not making any money from this. Reviews are payment enough.

Let the game begin.

* * *

Cold.

That much he knew. His entire body, cold, aside from the left half of his head, which throbbed in close tandem with his heartbeat. The steady pounding couple with the temperature was what had awoken him. Or perhaps it was due to the feeling of tight metal around his entire body, which only served to further confuse his muddled brain.

Captain Jack Harkness found himself naked and chained in a cold room with little light, blood on the side of his face, and no recollection of how he could have gotten there.

Not the best situation to find oneself in.

Then he noticed he was suspended a fair distance from the ground.

Also not the greatest of things.

Jack tried to stretch, but could not. His wrists were in shackles, raised above and behind him, so that he could not see where the chains led to. A leather and metal harness encased, and when he shifted the slightest bit, it tugged at his ribs; he looked down and saw that the harness seemed to be coming _from_ his ribs. He could feel a dull throb coming from between each rib, which meant . . . the harness . . . was . . . _in_ his ribcage. There was also a constant pulling at his mid back; he was able to catch a glimpse of chain before his neck cramped sharply.

Upon further inspection of the room, Jack concluded the faint light came from a television set halfway up the wall and a little to the left of him. It flickered grey and white static. He almost looked away when an image, grainy but recognizable, appeared there. It looked to be a marionette doll: fake, black, curled hair, and a white face with red swirls painted on the round, prominent cheeks. Red eyes set in black sockets held an eerie life of their own. It was turning to face him, and the mouth began to move as a husky man's voice spoke to Jack as if they were in the same room.

"Hello, Jack. You don't know me, but I know you."

It paused, the unseeing eyes boring through the suspended captain.

"I want to play a game."

Jack gaped at the macabre marionette as it continued to speak.

"You live not knowing your place or purpose. You know more than you should, and you have no one with whom to share it."

The marionette paused again, turning more to face Jack.

"The harness you wear is hooked into your ribcage, and you are suspended fifteen feet above the floor," a few grime-encrusted lights buzzed into life above his head, "And beneath you, as you can see, is a line of seven keys. One of those unlocks the door directly across from you, on the other side of the room."

"All that is required of you is to open the harness, find the key, and move forward. It seems easy, doesn't it? Once you remove the harness, you have twenty minutes before the door locks permanently."

The marionette spoke in a slow, confident, calculated voice, as if it knew precisely what would happen.

"If you should fail, someone dear to you will suffer the consequences."

"Live or die. Make your choice."

Jack laughed at the recording. "I can't die."

"I know that, Captain Harkness. But they can."

Jack's eyes widened, and the screen went black.

* * *

_Just her and Owen; she, standing at the floor-to-ceiling windows, looking at the darkened river. She was cold because. . . ._

Because her feet were bare, and something cold was clamped tightly about her left ankle. Odd, she didn't wear ankle bracelets.

Gwen groaned. She sat up and rubbed her eyes, blinking at the soft blue-white light coating the grungy room. Something to the left of her scuttled across the floor, and she gasped, but it was only a fat brown rat, gone before she could even cringe. Gwen rolled onto her stomach to stand, but a clanking came from her ankle. She tugged at the chain, but it had no give whatsoever.

"What the _hell_?"

She took a moment to survey the room: it appeared to be an ancient, miserable lavatory, rust and other questionable stains covering every surface. There were cloudy rectangles that may have been mirrors above each once-white sink, and there were two urinals and a bath tub of sorts on the wall closest to her. She could easily reach the tub on her short restraint. She couldn't quite decide if she wanted to see the inside.

So she stood up and nearly toppled over as the blood rushed to her head, caught herself on the blackened tub. But immediately looked away, gagging, bile rising in the back of her throat. It was filled to the brim with brackish water and a bloated body floated in it, clothes pulled taught over the distended stomach. The face was so puffy any features beyond the evidence that it was human were indistinguishable. The skin on the fingers looked to be sliding off in long strips.

Gwen looked back at the corpse, her mouth unhinged and her eyes bulging. The sight was bad enough, but the horrendous smell was enough to make her gag. She turned away from it, her face to the wall. Bodies in general still perturbed her: this one, however, frightened and disgusted her. Never had she seen this stage of decomposition. Hell, she couldn't even recall a time she had seen a body older than a few hours . . . and a carcass with everything stripped off it. But this was much different from that. Seeing those carcasses could be likened with seeing a slaughtered cow. Meat. Just meat. She could tell herself it was just meat and bones, no face to attach it to, no next of kin. Decomposition . . . not so much.

Something silver poked out from under the corner of the tub, noticeable because it was the only clean thing in the entire room. Gwen dragged it out using her foot, hooking her toe through the loop of black plastic.

It was a handheld cassette player, the kind that used bite-sized tapes. Finding the eject button, she pressed it and found the player empty. Struck by a sudden idea, she searched her pockets; from her left back pocket she pulled a paper envelope with her name written on it in clean capital letters. She ripped it open and shook the contents into her hand. A small tape with "play me" written on a white label fell into her palm, along with a round-headed silver key. Immediately she dropped to her feet, testing the key on first the padlock holding the shackle shut and then the one securing the chain around the thick pipe. It didn't fit either.

"Okay, Gwen. Just play the tape." Her voice quavered slightly.

She slid the cassette into the player and clicked the triangular play button. There was a fuzzy scratching sound like the start of an old record, and Gwen turned the volume knob until it was at maximum.

"Hello Gwen. You're probably wondering where you are. I'll tell you where you might be. You might be in the room where you die."

Gwen's eyes widened.

"Your entire career you have wanted something more than just the tedious drudgery of average police work, and now that you have gotten that opportunity, you are beginning to regret it. The errant hours and secrecy is taking its toll on your home life, the one thing no one wants you to lose."

A weak cough interrupted the scratchy voice.

"The oxygen in the room is slowly being replaced with carbon monoxide. The key to unlock your escape lies within your dead cell mate. If you should fail to find it, the door leading to your escape will lock. You have three minutes. Let the game begin."

Gwen stared at the player as it clicked off. She looked from it to the swollen body, back to the player, and finally at the body. Then back to the door: a strip of red numbers counted down from twenty.

2.52

2.51

2.50

2.49

2.48

2.47

Trying her best to ignore the stench, she crawled closer to the tub and used the side to pull herself to her feet. Her constitution was not as strong as she had wagered, and she had to turn away and spit out the bile that slipped into her mouth. Unwanted thoughts scampered around her head. Who was this man? What had he done to deserve this? What had _she_ done to deserve this? Taking deep breaths of the less putrid air away from the body, she finally calmed herself enough to face it once more.

This time, she used one hand to plug her nose, and took shallow breaths through the corner of her mouth. She began by checking the obvious pockets, but the body was so tumid the clothes were too taught for her to reach a hand inside the fabric. So she turned her head to the side and reached into the opaque, sickeningly warm water. She felt around the bottom of the tub cautiously. In the corner farthest from where she had started, her hand brushed against something solid. With tentative fingers, she gripped it and withdrew her arm from the water. Please, let it be the key.

It was a small kitchen knife, the blade no longer than a few inches. Sick realization bled into her stomach.

Gwen unbuttoned the shirt from the body and surveyed the bloated abdomen. She looked away, raised the knife, and thrust it into the dead flesh.

1.16

1.15

1.14

1.13

1.12

1.11

1.10

1.09

1.08

1.07

1.06

1.05

1.04

1.03

1.01

1.00

00.59

Gwen tried not to count along.


	2. Chapter 2

**2**

Let the game begin.

Gwen must have left without waking him, and not bothered replacing the blanket, because Owen felt very cold. Maybe she had even left the window open; the only other time he had awoken to his flat being this cold was when the heater had broken that one week a year and a half ago. . .

Rolling over, Owen's hand landed in something wet and frigid. He jerked it away and sat upright, ridding himself of the liquid on the side of his pants. He had no idea what it was, since an absolute darkness surrounded him and he couldn't even see his hand when he waved it in front of his face. Luckily, the consistency told him it was only water. All things considered, it could be worse. It could have been cold blood.

Not knowing what else to do, Owen began patting the ground around him to gain some idea of his surroundings. When he twisted onto his back to move further, he felt a weight about his right ankle. He reached down to feel whatever it was and discovered his ankle shackled to something unseen. His shoes and socks were missing, which could account for the slight numbness in his feet.

Sighing and shaking his head, Owen inched forward a bit and started feeling around again. After three pats of the hard floor his hand landed on something solid and metal sounding: a small Maglite, no doubt. He easily found the switched.

"Oh bugger."

Those were not a good sign.

* * *

The room was completely bare. The walls grungy with years of neglect and so forgotten there weren't even cobwebs. There were no fixtures to speak of: no sink, no toilet, no shelves. Nothing. Except the door. A door as blank as the walls. The door he had been staring at for the past fifteen minutes. A dull brass-colored knob at waist height, gleaming slightly. Then Jack's coat. Ianto had awoken on the hard floor with the old garment folded neatly on his chest. And seamlessly falling into his roll as Torchwood three's butler/tea-boy, keeping Jack's coat clean was an automatic action.

Ianto did not, however, _only_ think of the coat. He had tried the door, it disappointed him when it failed to open. And since he was left with nothing more to do, he sat a few feet from the door, far enough away that, were it to open, he'd be spared a whack in the face.

The more he pondered the puzzling situation, the more confused he was by the whole thing. A significant lack of painful lumps on his head told him he hadn't been knocked out and dragged here. He had no injuries anywhere on him indicating some organ or internal tissue had been removed. No snips of hints. No paper, no writing. There wasn't even a light switch. But upon saying and doing a few things that made him look rather idiotic, he was able to rule out the possibility the lights were controlled by any sort of sound. He could tell, however, that a light switch _had_ been in the room at some point: a whitish square on the wall near the door indicated where one must have been removed, and then gone over with putty or plaster.

He hadn't the faintest notion of who could have brought him here, or why. Where was he? Where was everyone else, for that matter? Was he the only one missing? Did the others know? He'd forgotten something back at the Hub, hadn't he? Something important . . . damn it, he hadn't finished brewing the coffee. Did Jack need his coat? _Why_ did he have Jack's coat and nothing else?

Perhaps he was still at the Hub and had gotten himself, somehow, locked in one of the rooms deep within Torchwood's shady bowels. Owen must be watching him on the CCTV, all cozy at one of the computers. Ianto made a mental note to berate the man at the next opportune moment. Slimy bugger always did seem to have a nasty sense of humor. Ianto wouldn't put it past the medic to go so far as drugging him.

The tea boy's musing was interrupted by flickering lights. They flashed twice, leaving him in darkness momentarily, then coming back on. A small click came from the door and it swung open, revealing a patch of drab grey wall.

In his perfectly rational, cautious way, Ianto approached this newest mystery and stuck his head around the side of the door, surveying the corridor. The light coming from his room was somewhat softer in color. The lights of the passageway were dirty, tinted a sick, dead green-black by an accumulation of filth over the plastic case of the fluorescent tubes.

He jumped as more lights sprang to life along the ceiling of the corridor. The hall extended to his left for a hundred yard before it bent in a way that made it impossible to see around. It dead-ended on the right. Ianto's first thought was that he should stay put, but a second, more rational thought to explore overrode instinct.

That coffee would burn.

* * *

It was such an agonizing, slow process. Only two of the prongs of harness were free from his ribcage, which left four more on the left side and six on the right. Yet even with that small triumph, another problem presented itself. As the blood dripped from his torso, it landed in _water_ of all things. It had been so still before he had not noticed. But as soon as the first drop hit and the ground rippled, Jack growled in irritation when he realized not only would he drop fifteen feet once this was over, but it was a drop into three feet of water. Which, from the way the blood did not quickly dilute, had a temperature standing only _just_ above freezing.

Jack wanted to die. He didn't understand why he hadn't died yet, and that was more frustrating than actually being stuck in the damned contraption. None of the metal pieces had been placed near or in any of his vital organs. Most likely, his captor knew his capabilities and wanted him to suffer as much as possible before he could free himself. His fingers were so slick by the second blade that they slipped when he tried to pull it free. It did not help, either, that the pain alone was enough to make him see black every time he took a deep breath.

He let his hands fall away from the torturous device, head hanging, breath shallow. Eyes scrunched shut against the acid fire that encased his upper body, Jack tried to calm himself enough to work on the third section of the harness, only halfway done with one side. Who had they screwed over badly enough to have something this _extreme_ happen? Jack tried to recall a time were he had been tortured worse than this.

He couldn't think of any.

With a howl, he yanked the stubborn blade out in one swift motion, letting the hidden spring whisk it aloft with the previous two. A fresh stream of blood emitted from the gash, reddening the water beneath him. Jack sighed and let his eyes drift shut and the darkness drag him down.

He gasped awake what felt like seconds later. The gashes had healed some, but were still sensitive, the scabs moist enough to be brushed open into bleeding.

Since yanking seemed the fastest way to get it done, and it wouldn't matter how often he lost the majority of his blood, Jack shook off his hands and went to the next segment. This time, he managed to remove the final two before he had to stop to regain some form of strength.

Something gnawed at his stomach, some feeling that _his_ escape wasn't the only reason he needed to get out of here. Coldness, unsettling and consuming, seeped into his being, and with renewed vigor, Jack went to work on the second half of the harness. Biting his tongue and focusing on something besides the all-consuming agony, he slid one blade after another from between his ribs. However, in this blank room, nothing striking drew his attention away from his exertions, and Jack was left a blank mind devoid of everything except pain.

He had forgotten what would happen once he managed to remove all the metal pieces. He felt hollow when the movement released him from the ceiling.

When the icy water hit the gouges covering his torso, Jack gasped, sucking in a lungful of biting, cold liquid. His momentum carried him straight to the ground, three feet under the surface. He moved so quickly he was unable to spit out the water. His elbow hit one of the keys, all of which were slightly obscured by his blood clouding the water.

Instinct made him kick off the bottom, and as soon as his head cleared the surface he began hacking the water from his lungs. The glacial liquid had done him some good by numbing the submerged parts of his body. He crouched lower into and smiled as his wounds seemed to disappear. If only they would just _heal_.

His fall into the water had further disturbed it, making the blood diffuse over a greater distance. A diluted red tinged the liquid, making it an almost pink colour. Jack could now see the keys, and he scooped them up and dropped them all into his palm, wading his way to the door. He had no way to tell how many minutes had passed since he had freed himself from the harness, so he moved as quickly as his numb legs would allow. What would he do if the door were to lock permanently? Freeze to death, come back. Starve? If this . . . _whoever_ this was, knew that Jack couldn't die, wouldn't they know it pointless to lock him in here?

But the marionette had said—

Jack scowled when he realized it was likely his whole team was in danger. He returned his attention to the keys.

All of them were silvery, brand-new looking, and almost identical. Jack tried the first one his fingers came into contact with. He put it into the lock, hands shaking slightly. He hadn't realized it was _that_ cold in the room. His breath came out in vague puffs.

Jack almost laughed when the first key didn't work. It would have been too lucky to unlock the door with the first try.

The third to last key finally turned in the lock. Jack made a little inarticulate noise of triumph, which turned into a noise of surprise as he was spilled beyond the door by the sudden rush of water.

Wherever it was he landed, a wall made full acquaintance with his backside not ten feet from the door. It was enough to make him aware of the continual mass of ache and pain that engulfed his body, and reminded him of his complete lack of clothing. The water flowed around him and dispersed throughout the dark corridor. Jack lay on his back, panting. His eyes sagged, and darkness claimed him again.

* * *

Keys would never look the same. Especially this particular small, toothed key. Blood and other unknown bodily fluids covered it and it stank of putrid flesh and bile and it would forever hold a little piece of Gwen's sanity. As the tape had promised, it unlocked the shackle and the padlock holding the chain to the pipe. The unlocking was the easy part. Obtaining the key had not been.

Gwen's first thought was to go for the stomach, which was hard enough to find on a regular body for a person lacking proper anatomical knowledge. After the distended flesh was punctured, such a rank smell assaulted her that Gwen whipped her head away and retched what little remained in her stomach. She had seen bodies, sure. Freshly dead, freshly reanimated, striped of everything to leave a carcass. But seeing and handling a body in such a state of decay was one of things on her list of "Stuff I Would Rather **Not** Do."

Once she finished, she shrieked and threw the knife across the room, fumbled to undo her restraint, and backed away from the mutilated body so quickly she nicked her palms on the jagged edges of a few broken tiles. She sat in the corner, hugging her knees to her chest. She could only stare wide-eyed at the mess for a moment that may as well have been forever. Somewhere, in the back of her mind, she knew she was being timed, and it was that small, subconscious conductor that put her in motion.

0.21

0.20

0.19

0.18

0.17

0.16

0.15

0.14

0.13

0.12

She opened the door, her eyes lingering on the body.

A dim hall met her. It had a greenish cast to it due to the grime coating the strips of fluorescents. Gwen slipped out, slammed the door behind her, and ran in the first direction her feet took her.

In her haste, one of her toes skidded over something and she pitched forward, yelping and grabbing at the wall for support. The pipe she reached for, however, was not secured, and fell next to her with a loud clang. Driven by adrenaline, Gwen picked up the four foot pipe, found it heavy enough to make a suitable weapon, used it to stand, and kept going, but at a walk. Her grip stayed tight on the pipe, shoulders tense and ready at any moment to strike unseen foes that were certainly waiting for her.

An elbow bend lay ahead of her. She crept along the near side, pipe raised above her head in a defensive stance. She stopped at the corner and took a deep breath, then leapt around it, swinging the pipe.

Nothing jumped at her, no one grabbed her. Only more corridor, stretching so far ahead of her that the filthy lights could not reveal end nor curve of the dingy cement stretch. Gwen breathed deeply a few more times and lowered the pipe, walked forward. Alert to anything and everything,

A few times, Gwen had to go for stretches of twenty or more meters in complete darkness when a light either fizzled out or was non existent, having broken long before her arrival. During these stretches of darkness she tensed hard enough that her shoulders began to cramp. A certainty that someone lurked behind her knuckled along her spine and made her cringe. But, she reasoned, she would have known if anyone did: aside from the faint sounds her bare feet made on the cold floor, and the slight buzz of the overhead lights, silence settled throughout the hall.

Gwen tried not to think that yesterday may have been the last time she would see Rhys.

* * *

He hadn't died, because when his eyes trudged open, it was not with the feeling that he had just been slammed into a solid wall of flesh. No, he had only been granted the small reprieve of unconsciousness. He wished he had died; that way, he'd be healed by now and not need to worry about the slashes between his ribs. Or feel them, for that matter.

He wanted some clothes. Not because he cared about anyone seeing him — hell, it'd be a treat for anyone to see him naked — but because he very nearly _literally_ freezing his ass off. He also wanted something to cover the still-healing lacerations. If he could get them bandaged, or at least _tie _something over them, they'd be able to seal themselves much faster. But as he was, things didn't look so great.

Sighing, Jack pushed himself to his feet. It took much more effort than he first imagined, and he ended up leaning most of his weight against the grimy wall. As he collected his breath, he saw that the corridor in front of him was a dead end. Looking behind him affirmed that the passage continued in the opposite direction. Well, at least one thing was going to be easy. No need to decide which way to go when there was only one option.

With one hand on the wall and the other around his ribs, Jack shuffled down towards unknown dank and darkness.

* * *

Ianto had a problem. The corridor split, and both splits curved out of site, so it was impossible to gauge which one would be the better choice. He did not want to go down one and find something murderous there, but he also did not want to miss the chance to find anyone else, if anyone else from Torchwood was to be found. So Ianto, being relatively logical, sat with a vantage point of both forks, Jack's coat in his lap and free from the dirty ground.

The coffee was on its own now.

* * *

Her shoulders ached with the intensity of her tension. Gwen had passed through yet another dark patch, but this one had been so long she thought it would go on forever. When she finally came out of it, her fingers were numb from holding the lead pipe in a white-knuckled grip. And only one mangy light lay between her and the next all-encompassing blackness.

Steeling herself against the unknown, she inched forward.

This black went on for even longer

And something was moving in it.

Gwen froze. Her first thought was that it was some deranged lunatic who could see her and lusted for a kill, then sensibility kicked her and reasoned that it could simply be some animal. But Gwen did not want to believe it was something as simple as some animal. What the hell would an animal be doing down here anyways? She raised the pipe, heart thudding in her ears as she listened to the thing come closer. That feeling of a foreign object nearing her crept up her heels and along her spine. Whatever shuffled toward her was close now, and she swung.

It startled her when the pipe connected with something hard, and surprised her even more when a loud _oomph__!_ of pain issued from the stricken object. A second later there came a solid thump was a body hit the floor, and another grunt. Then a crack, and,

"That. Hurt. Nearly broke my jaw. . . ."

"Jack?" Gwen dropped to the ground, feeling around for the captain.

"Gwen?" The single word was quiet, near her foot.

"Yes, Jack. I am so sorry!" She found what felt like his head, and yelped when he hissed and jerked away. She mumbled sorry again and waited for Jack to speak.

"I think you fractured my skull." His tone was lighthearted, but weariness underlay it. He sounded a bit closer than before.

"I can't see you, Jack."

"That's probably for the better."

"What?"

"Nothing. Just . . . put your hand out."

Gwen did as he said, but she still jumped when his hand found hers. She stood and hauled him to his feet, staggering as he fell against her. She hadn't been prepared for the sudden extra weight. Gwen's brows furrowed as she felt what seemed to be the absence of his clothes. . . .

"Jack, why are you naked?"

He chuckled. Gwen felt him shrug. ". . . That's not the reaction I usually get."

"Now is not the time to be joking!"

Jack didn't respond. When he did speak, the subject had changed.

"The other way for me was a dead end."

"Then we'll have to turn around."

Jack sighed shakily. "Alright. Don't forget your saber, Joan of Arc."

Gwen gave a short laugh and stooped to retrieve the pipe. She began to walk forward but Jack grabbed her shoulder.

"You destroyed my equilibrium, you help me walk."

Gwen began to protest, but Jack had already slipped one of her arms around his waist, his own over her shoulder.

"You going to be alright?"

"Yeah." He said it a little too breathlessly for Gwen's comfort.

She took a step forward, and nearly dropped Jack when she became responsible for most of his weight.

"Sorry," he said, and adjusted himself so that he more leant on Gwen then sagging against her.

"Ready now?"

"Yes."

His answer came out as a whisper, and Gwen's concern for him deepened.


	3. 3

**3**

_Let the game begin_

* * *

The whole situation would have been a lot better if they were simply giant mouse traps. That, Owen could have handled. Smaller, annoying, and a _lot_ less painful. Or destructive. It was bad enough waking up in the dark, with a chain around his ankle, and no explanation for any of it. Hell, Owen would have preferred to be locked in someone's basement, surrounded by leather sex toys with the prospect of being a bondage slave. Naughty, sadistic business he could stand.

But clicking on a tiny flashlight to discover he was surrounded by bear traps . . . ridiculous. Most lounged in place, rusted and gaping; a few had what looked to be dried blood crusted around the teeth, and one had the mostly decayed body of a rat, so long dead it no longer stank. At another near the farthest left wall, a skeletal foot lay clamped between closed jaws that had pierced through the bone. There was a small bit of forlorn skin dangling between the steel points, shriveled and stiff. Not far from that trap, the bone remains of someone, male judging from the length of the femurs and the set of the hips, stretched themselves out in a way that screamed this person had attempted to crawl away after parting with their foot. So desperate for life, he had been willing to escape _sans_ foot. Poor bloke probably went mad and didn't even think of the consequences of getting his foot snapped off.

Owen liked his foot where it was, attached and useful. It looked, however, as if he would have to risk that to escape.

A silver cassette player, brilliant in its contrast with the rust-eaten pipe it sat under, grabbed his immediate attention. He reached for it, popping the deck open to see if any tape presented itself. There was none, so Owen sat against the wall, muttering to himself and making another sweep of the room with the Maglite. No tape could be seen, no clues whatsoever as to the whereabouts of the plastic square that would undoubtedly tell him why the _hell_ he was chained in a dark room, surrounded by bear traps.

He sighed and set the light down on one of his outstretched legs, passing his hand over his face. As he dropped his hand to the floor, it brushed against the pocket of his jeans; he felt something under the material he had not noticed before. His first supposition of it being the tape was confirmed, and he rolled his eyes as he slid the piece of old technology into the small handheld player.

"This is bollocks," he muttered under his breath, but pressed play.

The tape crackled for a moment. Owen turned up the volume and held it at shoulder level with the speaker directed towards his ear.

"Hello Owen. You are, by now, undoubtedly wondering where you are. You may be in the room where you will die, or you may leave this room behind and continue on to whatever end awaits you."

A short pause and a wheezy breath.

"The key to your restraint is taped to the bottom of the pipe to which you are chained. Once you have freed yourself, you must find the key to the door. That key lies beneath one of the bear traps you see before you."

Another pause, this time with no breathy sound.

"Your pitiful life is not the only thing at risk, Owen Harper. Live or die, make your choice."

"Let the game begin."

The tape clicked off.

Owen looked at the player as if it had just told him the business between his legs was fake, and that he was, in fact, a middle-aged woman. He shook his head, but flopped onto his stomach and trained the flashlight on the pipe he had previously leaned against. He slowly ran his hand along the underside, rust flaking off onto his palm. When he found the key he rolled his eyes, muttering to himself that there was no way it would fit the lock, one of the team would come in any minute and tell him it was all just a huge joke, and he'd get out with a few scathing glares and a week's worth of ignoring them all. He stuck the key in the lock that held the shackle clamped around his ankle, and was surprised by how easily it slid in. Turning it popped the silver padlock open, Owen ended its job of connecting the two halves of the shackle, and the metal restraint clanged to the floor.

He didn't particularly like his options.

Owen sighed again, the annoyance ebbing away and leaving a feeling of discomfort laced with pinpricks of fear. The task set before him started to seem more real the longer he passed the Maglite over each bear trap. He knew the only way to find the key would be to set them off, but he had nothing aside from his own limbs to do that with.

He turned his back to the pack of steel traps and slowly ran the small light along the pipes, seeing if any appeared to be weak enough to pull off; he stood and jerked at a few. One came lose. Despite its small size, it rested in his hands with a weight that seemed more comforting than that of a handgun.

Owen would wish he had one of those by the time he reached the door.

* * *

Wet pavement was the prevalent smell that morning. Flat, grey, clouds coated the sky, and what little light managed to breach the collected moisture turned the asphalt a dull onyx color. It was Thursday, barely nine a.m. Only a few people flecked the streets, raincoats pulled tight around cold necks, hats drawn over eyes stung by the frigid air. Today was not a day favoring the walking citizen of Cardiff. Even the birds seemed encouraged to stay in their nests, the bitter air having chased them there overnight. The day, quiet, cold, motionless, awaited something.

Toshiko walked from her car to the entrance of Torchwood in much the same fashion: coat drawn tight across her chest, laptop bag slung over one shoulder as she bustled towards the warmth the Hub promised.

When she stepped inside the front "office," however, Ianto was not there. Thinking he must be down below, she stepped into the lift and absently tapped her foot. Jack seemed to have a personal grudge against music in the elevator, and so she was left to wait out the short ride in silence.

Stainless-steel lift doors opened, the massively thick bank vault-like door rolled open, prison bar-esque double-doors swung out, and Toshiko's jaw dropped.

The Hub was beyond a mess. Someone had ransacked it: all the computers either lay on the floor or were smashed; the glass around the conference room, shattered. Strewn about the floor, it reflected the few lights that remained unbroken in countless snippets of diamond shine. Papers, torn and whole alike, dappled the pile of glass. The one promising thing was that no corpses lay about the wreckage.

But that didn't mean they couldn't be elsewhere.

Tosh slowly backed out of the decimated Hub, slipping her com device around her ear. As the lift carried her back to the main office, she started calling each of the Torchwood team. By the third voicemail concern scratched at her stomach, and apprehension began to sink in.

She almost stepped out the door when something on the desk caught her attention. A manila envelope that had not been there when she first entered. Handling it cautiously, she gave it a cursory inspection. The only writing on it was Toshiko in steady, thick lettering. Confusion added to her apprehensive state as she opened the heavy envelope and shook the contents onto the desk. A handheld tape player and a miniature cassette landed on a stack of take-out food receipts. Both looked oddly intrusive. Neither were things Torchwood ever used.

Seeing nothing else to do with them, Toshiko fitted the tape into the player and pressed the button that would bring her rather unfortunate news.

"Hello Toshiko. I want to play a game."

* * *

The light shone closer, and a smile twitched into brief existence on her lips. She must have started walking faster, because Jack's grip on her shoulder tightened.

"It's just light, Gwen."

Gwen nodded, instantly regretting it when Jack hissed. She had forgotten his head rested where her shoulder joined her neck.

"Sorry," she said in a small voice.

"I'm fairly sure we've established that by now."

"Right. Sorry."

Jack gave a breathless chuckle and hid his eyes in Gwen's neck as they neared the light.

As soon as Gwen crossed between black and light, Jack stopped walking.

"Jack, are you alri..." The words died, however, when she saw the mess of Jack's torso.

"Oh my God, Jack!"

"It's nothing." He smiled wanly at her and detached himself from her side, leaning against the wall. The side of his head that she could see was swollen, his right eye so puffy he could not open it. A trail of blood laced down his neck from his ear. Hair matted with blood. For a horrifying second Gwen could have sworn she saw a piece of skull, but when she examined it closer discovered it to be merely a trick of the light.

She reached out to touch his head, then retracted her hand before it made it halfway. Her eyes had fallen to the wounds along Jack's bared ribcage.

Gwen was agape, trying to comprehend what she saw. A dry chuckle from Jack snapped her out of contemplation.

"What the bloody hell happened?!"

Jack shook his head. "You really don't want to know." After he said that, he pushed off from the wall and attempted to take a few steps on his own. He nearly succeeded, but his body swayed so severely he would have toppled into the opposite wall had Gwen not been there to catch him. However, he needed much less of her support than he had previously.

Gwen watched him intently with concern, eyes straying to the blood-caked, pinkish gouges, glance lingering near his waist until she reminded herself to keep looking forward. Jack didn't seem to notice. He seemed quite focused on staying upright, which he was getting better at as they walked. Gradually, Gwen supported less and less of his weight. She hoped he'd be well enough to walk on his own soon, because their proximity and his lack of clothes made for an . . . uncomfortable situation.

Gwen shook herself as she realized her eyes had drifted southward once more. Jack grinned and kept his focus on walking.

If only . . .


	4. 4

**4**

_Let the game begin._

* * *

A dozen incredibly loud snaps and Owen still jump every time he set off a trap. The current pipe, by this point, was useless. Owen had gone through nearly six when an idea struck him: take the closed traps and use them to set off the rest. Sixteen total closed and he still had not found the key. His growing suspicion was that it lay under on of the traps closest the door, but he still had some ten meters of traps to go through.

Owen hoped he wasn't being timed.

"Load of bollocks . . ." he murmured as he tossed a piece of pipe at a pair of gaping jaws three feet from him. They closed greedily around the lead meal, slamming together with a solid thump. Owen cringed at the noise. A thick, fuzzy headache began throbbing behind his eyes.

Owen's eyes snapped back to the clamped steel. A dully shinning shape, a metal tidbit in comparison to the mindlessly carnal beast that harbored it, snagged his attention. The key. . . . It looked pathetic and forlorn as it lay next to the closed bear trap. He plucked it away, holding it up to the light and inspecting it. Owen swung his eyes away from the key and over the remaining metal jaws. If he could just set off a few in a row, he'd have a relatively clear path to the door.

A clear_ish_ path.

With a grumble, he lifted the most recently satiated trap and tossed it onto the thick of the pack. There were several consecutive snaps that chipped a little more away from Owen's nerves. This resulted in some seven of the traps closing, and he had a bare enough path to the door. All he would have to do was jump over one and he could leave this irksome room behind.

When he came to the single set of jaws slumbering between him and his freedom, Owen's lips curled into a kind of feral grimace. He then edged around it and padded to the door, taking the handle in one hand and jamming the key into the lock. A twist to the left and a satisfying click was uttered from the dirt-spotted door; he turned the knob and let the rectangle swing open, into the room.

The corridor that greeted him did nothing to lighten his mood.

* * *

"The rules of the game are simple. You cooperate and your team lives. If you contact any authorities, I will ensure they suffer to the death. Live or die, Toshiko. Make their choice."

Even after replaying the horrifying monologue four times, Toshiko's mind refused to comprehend it. All her attention focused on the player, her eyes drawn to the black holes that comprised the speaker. Her horrified gaze, wide-eyes. The tape had explained things perfectly logically; the situation it explained seemed unreal. And this was Torchwood. What they did could hardly be classified as "real."

Something clamped around her mouth and she gasped by instinct, but with each breath she became more and more light headed. Her mind frenzied: who the hell was this? Why was this happening? The team . . .something about the team . . . She tried to turn around and see who held a chloroformed rag to her mouth, but blackness overtook her and the room disappeared.

* * *

Owen, yet again, did not like his options. Well, option singular: the corridor dead-ended to his right and made an almost immediate bend to his left, so for all he knew, death could be awaiting him. But, he reasoned, whoever had put him here wanted him somewhat functional. Maybe even alive. The bear traps would have been enough to kill him; why kill him as soon as he escaped the room? The only good thing was that the hall's buzzing fluorescents made use of the Maglite superfluous. He dropped it into his left hip pocket.

He walked for what felt like a short minute when a tri-fork presented itself. Owen really did not want to risk choosing a wrong one; the possibility of dead ends or passageways that led him further and further from escape was not one he favored. Then he thought back to the tape...it had said not only his life depended on his escape. But who else could possibly . . .

As if a switch had turned in his head, everything clicked into place.

The psycho responsible for this had the entire Torchwood team.

* * *

He _seemed_ to be fine, which was all Gwen needed to see. In all honesty Jack was hard pressed to recall a time he had ever experienced this much pain for such a prolonged period of time. What he could not, however, hide, was his inability to walk completely on his own. He had tried twice more, taking a few steps while Gwen watched with weary eyes, but both times resulted in him collapsing against her. And those small steps had drained him more than he cared to admit. His position stayed one he did not appreciate at all. He hated having to depend on another person just to keep upright, even if that person had the best intentions.

"You alright?" Gwen asked quietly.

Jack smiled. "I'll be fine."

"That's in the future, how about now? You can't be okay, Jack."

Jack couldn't summon the energy to completely lie, so he diluted his answer. "I feel like shit, frankly. Worse than shit. I don't think shit is capable of feeling."

The poor attempt at humor garnered a small chuckled from Gwen.

"So definitely not fine."

Jack held a little tighter to her, his voice hardly above a whisper. "Yeah, well, that's to be expected after pulling blades out of my ribcage."

"What?!" Gwen nearly shouted, and Jack winced away from the sound.

She stopped walking, sliding Jack's arm off her shoulder. Pulling blades from his ribcage? Meaning, _inside_ his ribcage? How was he still alive? She unhooked her arm from his waist and took a better look at her battered boss. Maybe it was only a change in the lighting, but the wounds appeared even more garish than before. Their red, inflamed presence contrasted starkly with Jack's pale skin.

Wait, why was his skin so pale?

"Jack . . ." Gwen began without really knowing where she wanted to direct the conversation.

"Yes?" His tone was one of expectancy.

Gwen's mouth moved, but it issued no sound.

"We should keep going." Jack turned as he said it, but even that was too fast a movement. His feet entangled each other and his knees failed. Gwen only just caught him.

"Jack—"

"_Don't_ say you're sorry," he ground out, teeth clenched against the pain Gwen's shirt caused the gauges.

"I wasn't going to."

Jack lapsed into silence, breathing shallowly with his forehead pressed against Gwen's collarbone. Gwen sighed and arranged Jack once more at her side.

"This is getting ridiculous."

"And you're not the naked one."

Gwen smiled minutely. "Now is not the time for joking." But she could not earnestly reprimanding him.

"Hmm," was Jack's response.

Gwen's worry had grown so acute it pained her. A deep seated feeling of dread and apprehension dwelt just above her waist, ripping at her insides like a nest of thorns. Jack had said he pulled blades out of his ribcage, and that was the reason for the gouges. That, she could see for herself, but what didn't make sense was why they weren't more healed, or why Jack hardly seemed to have gotten any better. He should be walking on his own by this point; he had recovered from being shocked twice faster than this. However, Gwen supposed, that wasn't nearly as bad as this.

She hoped they could find a way out soon.

With Jack's wellbeing as her fore thoughts, only a small piece of Gwen's mind registered the slight change of lighting, and the gentle curve of the corridor.

* * *

He had been thinking about what to say the next he saw Jack, when Ianto heard footsteps. Light, but scuffling, the sound of a barefooted person limping. Immediately, Ianto knew it had to be _someone_ from Torchwood, and frankly, he didn't care who it was, even if it turned out to be Owen. Heh, Ianto smiled to himself, if it _was_ Owen, he could yell at the medic. Ianto stood, draping Jack's coat over one arm, and stood a little ways back from the fork, wondering from which side his teammate would come from. It wasn't long before a shadow stretched across the wall, and Ianto's brows furrowed as he looked at it; it appeared to be _two_ people, judging by the size. And the way one of the shadows looked to mold onto the other one . . .

Ianto held his breath.

-

"Okay, now I'm hallucinating."

"What?"

Jack raised a hand and pointed at the man standing at the end of the corridor with a coat over one arm.

Gwen smiled.

"Then that makes two of us," she muttered, walking a little faster towards Ianto, who stood there with his mouth open slightly. No doubt it had to do with their appearances: Jack in all his naked, wounded glory, and Gwen with blood and questionable other stains on the front of her shirt.

Ianto just stood there, gawping.

Jack whispered to Gwen for her to stop, and he untangled himself from her side and stood, swaying slightly.

"Ianto." Jack nodded to his coat.

Ianto's eyes snapped to his captain and he walked forward, holding out Jack's coat as if it were some ceremonial offering. Jack smiled and extended an arm for it. Gwen put a hand on his shoulder as a precaution, which was fortunate for Jack: when he lifted one arm to slip on the coat, he winced and bent double, arms curled around his sides. Both Gwen and Ianto immediately went for him, but he waved them off and motioned for his coat. Ianto looked at Gwen, but she only shook her head and stepped back.

Ianto helped Jack into his coat, undoing the tie from the back and securing it so that the coat was held loosely closed. Gwen internally remarked that this was the first time she had seen the old garment tied shut. Once that was done, they lowered Jack to the floor, where he sat hunch, panting slightly. God, this hurt.

"Would it be a repetitive question if I ask what happened?"


	5. 5

**5**

_Let the game begin._

* * *

Tosh awoke with the feeling that a considerable amount of time had passed. Her back and neck ached, and she could not identify if her rump was attached, or even present. This all could be attributed to the fact that she sat against a wall, with her head nearly resting on her left shoulder. There was a pressure on her thighs, and upon looking down, her laptop came into view. Her hands rested to either side of her, unbound and unharmed; her legs, too, were completely free. Coupled with the presence of her laptop, the situation puzzled her. Here she was, propped against a wall, free of restraint with her laptop resting on her legs. From the feel of things, she had been here for a substantial stretch of breath, unconscious. Putting her computer adjacent to the wall, Toshiko struggled to her feet. She stumbled as the blood rushed to her extremities, and finally noted her surroundings.

The wall she had been against appeared to be the end of a corridor, dirty, poorly lit. Pipes hugged the walls at waist height, some missing and others continuing out of site a hundred meters ahead. The corridor smelled of stale water with a vague accent of brackish stagnation. The temperature hovered only a few degrees below tepid, where the necessity of a jacket is borderline. Tosh leaned towards the want for the extra material, for the comfort of familiarity rather than added warmth; her laptop was something hard, impassive, whereas a jacket retained feeling and could always be likened with . . . happier occurrences that her current one. How had she even gotten here? She had been going to work and...everything after that became hazy, unattainable.

Pushing the somewhat dolorous thoughts if daylight and comforting heat from the front of her mind, Toshiko hugged her laptop to her chest and started forward.

* * *

"Okay, one, two, three!"

Gwen and Ianto hauled Jack to his feet; he cried out as they pulled one of his arms over each of their shoulders.

"Felling any better?" Gwen queried, trying to see Jack's face.

"No," he ground out, taking his arm off Gwen's shoulder to press around his side. "But it feels like it's healing."

"That's good."

The silence fell immediately and absolutely, disrupted by Jack's slightly accelerated breathing. Ianto looked to Gwen, but she shook her head. Both of them looked to Jack, but his head was bent forward, eyes closed. It was fairly obvious he was concentrating on his sliced ribs. The silence existed as more than awkward: it personified of all their uncertainties, the collective swell of their unspoken fears. This lack of sound had a life of its own. A body of still air and a vile spirit of malice that preyed on doubt and fright. All the bad, bound to an indefinite form.

"Did you get a tape, Ianto?" Gwen needed there to be sound; it kept her mind from wandering in unfavourable directions.

". . . No. Why do you ask?"

"Well . . . Jack, did you?"

A nod.

Gwen swallowed before speaking. "I got a tape telling me what . . ." She closed her eyes for a few seconds before speaking again. "Telling me what I had to do to unlock myself, to escape."

Ianto's brow creased in confused contemplation as he focused nearly all his attention on his wide-eyed team mate.

"What where you locked to?"

"A pipe. And . . . and there was a body." She chocked on the last word.

"Gwen—" Jack began, but she cut him off.

"It said the key was somewhere inside, and that I had to find it. There was a knife . . ." With each word she sounded closer and closer to tears.

Jack dropped his arm from Ianto's and stood before Gwen, placing both hands on her shoulders, smiling kindly. A rather lacklustre attempt to placate her that he silently prayed would work.

"Try not to think about it, Gwen. It's done with—"

"I had to— to dissect him like some dead animal in a biology class! The _stench_ of it! How can I _not_ think about that, Jack?!"

Tears finally escaped her eyes and slid down her dirty cheeks. Jack winced as she clung to him, sobbing into the front of his coat. He placed a hand on the back of her head, whispering soothing words and rubbing her back, trying to comfort her. He glanced back to Ianto, but the younger man only raised his eyebrows in question and put his hands into his pockets. He in no way was going to help. Jack's eyes lingered on Ianto's. The captain tried to convey his annoyance through that stare. Ianto dropped his eyes to the floor and scratched at his head.

Gwen squeezed Jack particularly hard and he gasped, letting go of her and doubling over with his arms wrapped around his abdomen.

"Oh my god, Jack, I am so sorry!"

"That's great, Gwen, but it's not going to make it stop hurting."

Gwen, unable to think of a response, slid down the wall until she thumped softly to the ground. Jack followed suit with a grimace, facing Gwen, hunched forward. Ianto just stood, looking from one to the other, unsure of what to do. It didn't seem like anything needed to be done.

Jack scooted closer until he was able to reach Gwen's hands, which he took in his own.

"Gwen, look at me."

She complied, eyes wide and frightened.

"I'm fine, 'kay?"

She nodded numbly, dropping her eyes to the floor once more. But Jack tugged on her hands, pulling her a little ways from the wall.

"It's not your fault. Don't think that for a second."

She finally looked up, a minute smile attempting to move to corners of her mouth. Jack beamed, hoping to assure her that, despite the acid fire his sides had become, he was fine and one way or another would live. It had some effect. Gwen's smile expanded and her eyes shed their first layer of fear.

"There's the Gwen Cooper we all know and love."

Gwen gave him a long-suffering look before rising, offering Jack her hand. He allowed her to pull him to his feet, and was, to his amazement, able to stand without losing the location of his head. Or having his feet dissolve into vague smoke lumps that may or may not be touching the ground.

"Anyone care for a stroll?"

With that, he slipped his hands in his pockets and walked forward, glancing over his shoulder with a playfully challenging look. He'd be damned if he couldn't walk on his own for at least a few minutes. And, it was best that they think he to be fine. Much better. Less stress on them, less worrying for him.

Right. Don't kid yourself, Harkness.

Gwen and Ianto exchanged smiles and started after the captain.

* * *

The failing lights overhead only further agitated her. They constantly cast her into darkness, in spurts short enough to make her eyes conjure shapes that didn't really exist. Toshiko felt so on edge that she believed something would jump her at any moment; it would have been an expectation and a simultaneous shock. The fact that the one thing she had with which to defend herself was her laptop did nothing to make her feel in control of the situation. If she _did_ happen upon anything, she hoped it wouldn't want or need to kill her. However, she invested more hope in the possibility that she didn't encounter anything at all.

While more time elapsed, Tosh grew steadily and progressively uneasy. The certainty that she would be attacked became undeniable. Tosh knew something was going to present itself soon, and her mind refused to accept that. Plausible deniability: pretend that knife in your chest isn't there and maybe it'll just disappear. Which is why, when she heard a faint hissing, her mind rammed the sound into the dusty recesses of thought, and shoved forward a notion that it was simply her pants brushing against each other. This trick of the mind is not, however, unable to make physical beings vanish.

Toshiko slowed as she neared a corner, shuffling around it with her laptop hugged protectively to her chest.

But she still startled when she saw the weevil.

It was staring at her, head tilting from side to side, upper lip drawing over its top teeth occasionally. It hissed quietly, shifting constantly, sometimes forward, other times back. It growled and started forward.

"Oh no you don't," Tosh whispered vehemence turned the warning to a hiss in its own respect.

The weevil stopped, hesitant.

"I'm sick of being knocked out and waking up in dark places with no explanation! It's bad enough not knowing where in the hell you are, but to come across a weevil? What else is down here, what other alien life? Whoever it is that set this up is going to have hell to pay, I can guarantee you that!"

The weevil canted its head to the left, bemused. Toshiko ignored it and kept on with her rant.

"Ever since that incident in the countryside, I've known; someone's been watching us," she scoffed, laughing slightly, "Just waiting for the opportune moment to snatch us all! Look how easy it was for bloody villagers!"

Whatever part of the weevil made decisions decided this female was not worth listening to. It started forward with confidence, sure of its intent.

Toshiko tensed, raising her laptop. The weevil was feet away when she swung it forward, yelling at the top of her lungs.


	6. 6

**6**

_Let the game begin_

* * *

"How do you know this is the right thing to do?"

Jack shrugged. "It's the only thing _to_ do. Unless you prefer to wait around for something dangerous to show up?"

Gwen shook her head and stuck her hands back in her pockets.

Jack had, for the most part, been walking under his own power for the last fifteen minutes. Not his usual, confident no-matter-what-the-hell-happens-I'll-_still_-win stride, but much slower; his bare feet hardly parted contact with the ground, and he still had an arm across his middle, pressing against his right side. Ianto was walking close enough to the captain to offer aid should the need arise. Gwen lagged a few metres behind, immersed in thought she was not consciously aware of. The track of her brain that worked constantly was silent, while the deeper, more cavernous half slogged its way through everything her brown eyes had recently captured. It sorted the images of the body, of stabbing it open to find the key, of losing all that was in her stomach followed by a dozen dry heaves. Gwen's mind had receded into its own shock; the horrors she had witnessed were simply too much for the organ to handle.

Why were they here? _Where_ was here? Where were Tosh and Owen, assuming they had befallen similar situations? These were the more obvious questions that flitted through Gwen's forethought; once they had passed she was left with a blankness intended to allow her damaged psyche time to repair. The only other thing Gwen controlled was the roving of her eyes along the corridor, and over Jack and Ianto. There was absolutely nothing of interest, no single thing to give away their location or purpose. They had been walking down the other corridor of the fork Ianto showed them for at least a kilometre, possibly more. Although with the speed Jack set, in all likelihood it was under that distance.

In front of her, Jack faltered with a small croak of surprise and threw a hand out at the wall to catch himself. Ianto was immediately at his side, and Gwen double-stepped to reach them.

"Do you want to stop for a bit? Rest at all?" Gwen began before Ianto could get a word in whatsoever. The tea boy sent her an exasperated glare and then returned his attention to his captain.

Jack shook his head, lifting his foot and brushing at the bottom of it. "Damn rock," he offered as way of explanation, sighing and passing a hand over his face.

"All right, sir?"

He nodded, placing a hand on Ianto's shoulder. "Fine. Just a sharp bit of stone," he jerked his head forward, "Shall we continue?"

Gwen opened her mouth to respond when a howl cut in. The three of them stood there, looking from one to another. Then Jack abruptly jogged forward, in the direction of the noise.

* * *

She hit the weevil so hard a painful vibration travelled up her arm. Her laptop and the weevil's skull were both stronger than she would have expected. But the blow did not stop the weevil; it hardly even slowed it. The thing only shook its head and snarled louder than before. If slight annoyance had been what it felt earlier, it was now enraged. And a hell of a lot better armed than the poor computer genius before it.

Tosh was not, however, afraid. Fuelled by pure adrenaline, she held aloft the piece of twenty-first century technology once more and ran at the weevil, screaming an indescribably chilling war cry. The weevil met her halfway, but Toshiko's determination to live surpassed the weevil's want for a kill. She swung again, this time hitting with the corner of her laptop: it struck the weevil right on the side of its mouth, and it backed off with a growl, blood oozing from the split skin. But Tosh continued to advance upon the confused and angered creature. At the next blow, the weevil's front teeth crumpled, and blood ran down its chin and to the floor as it back away, hissing; bloody spittle caught on the front of Tosh's purple shirt. And still she attacked, shouting all the while.

Eventually, she backed the weevil into a corner. Bleeding from the mouth and one eye, it huddled there, moaning as Toshiko continued to pound it with her laptop.

"Bloody," _crack,_ "Filthy," _snap,_ "Good for nothing," _wap, _"Alien scum!"

So intent was she on pulverizing that weevil Toshiko failed to notice the surprised gasp behind her, and when something touched her shoulder she screamed. Gluing the laptop to her chest, she scuttled away from whatever had touched her.

"Tosh, it's just us!"

"Stay back!" She brandished the bloodied —and slightly dented— laptop at him. Jack smiled, trying to encourage some form of sanity to return.

"Tosh, you're fine, it's dead now." Jack spoke as if Tosh were a scared child. "It's me, Jack." He crouched in front of her, shifting himself on his knees to be certain his coat didn't open in the back too much.

Toshiko's eyes locked on his face and a smile crept to her lips. "Jack? Really?"

He put his arms out to the sides in a welcoming gesture. "Yup."

The corner of Tosh's mouth twitched and her grip on the computer tightened. She finally seemed to see Gwen and Ianto as her eyes left Jack, lingering on her other team-mates for only a moment before passing on to the rest of the corridor.

"Where's Owen?"

* * *

When he heard the yell, he was certain it came from the hall to his left. Owen stood and half-walked, half-jogged in the direction of the sound. After one turn he heard another shriek, so eerie a sound Owen felt an almost violent shiver claw along his spine, and he quickened his pace. There came a series of dull thumps, solid sounds that generally indicated that flesh of some sort was suffering blows. Interspersed with these noises were what sounded like words, but Owen's heart pounded too quickly in his ears to distinguish anything clearly.

He met another corner and slowed, uncertain of what he would find.

"Oh my god."

All eyes turned to him, even the disgruntled-looking Tosh. Owen glanced at Gwen and Ianto, but his attention drew back to the bloody mess in the corner, and the blood-and-brain spattered Toshiko in front of Jack. Then he looked between Tosh and whatever it was she had bludgeoned, to her, and back at the bashed . . . weevil, judging by the hands. Toshiko had just murdered a bleeding weevil. _With her laptop!_ A _laptop_ of all things!

Owen's mouth lost its hinges.

It wasn't so much that there was a dead weevil or that a human had caused its death. The fact that _Toshiko_ of all people was the one to kill it, with three thousand dollars worth of computer nonetheless, that left Owen speechless. His eyes kept darting between Tosh's faint smile and the bashed underground-dwelling alien not two yards from her. And she looked as if none of it had happened, like she simply ignored the blood on her shirt, the piece of skin clinging to the top of her head, and the tidbit of grey matter just to the left of her nose. The only explanation for her behaviour was shock. Or a temporary and total lapse of sanity. Owen hoped, for the sake of survival, that she didn't turn on one of them. He was also immensely surprised he had stumbled upon the rest of team all in one spot.

Now they were just standing there, all quiet and looking from one to the other. Apparently, no one knew what to say, or do. Finding Owen and the victim of Toshiko's absent sanity completed and convoluted things all at once. And the silence. It forced all sound out; Owen couldn't even hear his heart, even though a minute ago it had been pounding so forcefully it seemed it would burst his ribcage.

"Well," Jack shattered the silence with a clap of his hands and stood, "Looks like the whole gang is here."

Owen scoffed, but with the absence of sound broken everyone seemed to relax: Gwen laughed, albeit nervously, Ianto smiled and Toshiko remained . . .Toshiko. Jack offered a hand to her, but she pushed herself off the floor with one hand while the other kept the laptop tightly to her chest.

"So what was it for you all?" Owen started what he hoped to be an informative conversation.

Gwen glanced at Jack momentarily. "I, well . . . I had to . . . get the key off a body."

Owen nodded at then jerked his head at Jack. "And you?"

The captain sighed. "Pulled blades out from between my ribs then fell fifteen feet into frigid water."

Owen gaped at him. "What?"

"Naked, no less."

"_What_?!"

Jack shrugged. "I'd show you, but it's cold in here. And, I don't know about the rest of you, but I wouldn't mind getting out of here. This corridor," he pointed at the floor with both index fingers as he spoke, "Is the second half of the fork where we found Ianto. Me and Gwen came out of the other one, so . . . Owen, were there any other corridors where you were?"

"Yeah, two more aside from this one."

Jack grinned at each of them before sticking his hands in the pockets of his coat. "Then that's where we go."

Without waiting to see if anyone followed, he strode past Owen. Owen raised an eyebrow at Gwen, but she only shook her head and walked after Jack. Ianto shrugged and went in the same direction; Owen quickly followed suit and sped past Ianto, not wanting to be left alone with Toshiko's unnerving, gory presence.

The distance to Owen's original problem was short. Jack stood at a point where he could see the other two tunnel-like hallways. He frequently looked between to two, gauging which risk held more appeal.

"Gwen, what do you think?"

"Of what?"

"Which one should we take."

"I . . ." Gwen stood level with him, looking between the two poorly lit corridors. "I don't know. The middle?"

Jack smiled. "The middle it is."


	7. 7

Chapter seven, which I actually started writing immediately after I posted ch. 6. It's amazing how long I was writing on Saturday. Has anyone else noticed the chapters getting progressively shorter? It's starting to bug me, And after reading over previous chapters, I found a few minute mistakes that are very irksome. I really should read the entire chapter before posting, instead of just skimming. T.T

Oh well.

The game continues.

* * *

Jack stood there, waiting for everyone to be present before setting off down the middle hall. He focused his thoughts on a way to escape; this method diverted his attention from the swollen feeling on the right side of his head. Going down the middle hall seemed the most logical thing to do, but the way the other corridors had led into each other…. This one could go anywhere: it could go further into wherever they were, or it could be their escape. Only walking it would tell. He hoped it went outside. 

But given the circumstances, they would have to decide between the lesser of a handful of evils. If fortune pitied them enough to allow choices.

The captain was getting annoyed with the persistent ache from his battered ribs, and his head had given a particularly painful throb when he stumbled earlier. The terrible, flickering lighting did nothing to help. Convincing himself that the gashes and skull fracture really did not exist helped abate the pain, and he was certain any expression of discomfort had left his face. The effort of blocking out his screaming nerves distracted him from the bleak setting around them. One thing he appreciated, though: they were all together now. As a whole team, their chances of living were far greater than if they had been scattered about.

Even now, Jack remained uncertain of their survival. If they failed to find a way of escape, who knew how long they would be down here, or what awaited them. Any manner of vile task or creature could be around the next corner. The floor could give out suddenly; walls could collapse or send lethal projectiles hurtling into their heads without the slightest puff of warning. The uncertainty the situation created kept Jack aware of his team, aware of just how much they meant to him. And that there was no coming back for them. Dead and gone for good. Jack made a silent promise he wouldn't allow that to happen. If anyone was going to die, it would he him. Again. What difference would one more death make?

Right now he wouldn't entirely mind dying, aside from the fact it would be an extreme hindrance to everyone else. It wasn't fair to make them wait, or drag him along, just so he could be spared some discomfort. His body would become an inconvenience they could not afford if they wanted to leave this dark place alive. So, biting the metaphorical bullet, Jack stood a little straighter and walked a bit faster.

Well, he intended to, he honestly did. But his body had other ideas: the right side of his skull pounded harder and his already poor vision became speckled. His swollen eye had hardly improved since Gwen saw it, and within another two heartbeats, one half of his vision went completely black. Not prepared in the least for this loss of sight, he fell sideways, crashing into someone soft. Gwen, most likely, from the feel of the waist he grabbed at. She squeaked in surprise but caught him by the arms, easing him to the ground.

"Easy, Jack."

He didn't respond: a migraine clamped around his head and began gnawing at the space behind his eyes. His heart rushed blood so furiously through his system it drowned out all other sounds. Why the hell was this happening?

"Jack?" Gwen cradled Jack against her chest. His eyes were closed and he drew unsteady breath through an open mouth. Gwen put the back of her hand to his forehead and gasped at the elevated temperature.

"Jack?!"

"I don't think he can hear us," Ianto said as he crouched next to Gwen, looking unsure of what to do.

Owen sighed and came forward, motioning for Ianto to get out of his way. He knelt at the captain's head, tilting it to the side to survey the damage Gwen's pipe had inflicted. When he pressed the darkest patch of bloodied hair, Jack groaned and turned away from the prodding. Gwen glared at Owen, but he ignored her and put two fingers to Jack's neck to feel his pulse. After a rough minute he frowned and prised Jack's good eye open and examined the pupil, sighing as he let the lid slide shut.

"He's got a concussion, for one. Although it's a hell of a lot more likely his skull's fractured. I don't suppose you know how long ago this happened?"

"I..." Gwen shook her head; Owen nodded, acknowledging her as much as his own thoughts.

"Well, his temperature's nearing dangerously high, and his heart's racing." Owen pulled back one side of the captain's coat and gaped, mouth flapping a few times before succeeding in articulation.

"He really meant it. Jesus, Jack, how have you been walking all this time?"

Jack took one of Gwen's hands and squeezed; it was the only indication he knew the slightest bit of what they were talking about.

"I'm sorry, Jack, but this is going to hurt."

Jack's grip on Gwen's hand tightened.

Owen fully exposed one side of Jack's upper torso to more closely examine the slashes. First he glanced at them, and then he prodded one particularly enflamed, pink-edged laceration. Jack gasped and tried to pull away, but Owen put a hand on his shoulder.

"Alright—"

"I'd appreciate it if you didn't do that again." It sounded like Jack _tried_ to come off as angered, but the words were said somewhat breathlessly.

Owen gave a small smile and closed Jack's coat. "The only thing that I can think of is poison."

"Poison?!" Gwen's widened eyes snapped to Owen, not wanting it to be true.

"There's no other explanation for it, Gwen. He should have died and healed ages ago, but it just looks like it's been getting progressively worse."

"Infected is what it looks like," Ianto put in, hovering a few feet behind Owen.

Owen nodded and plopped onto the ground, scratching idly at the back of his neck.

"With how disgusting it is down here, I'm not surprised," Owen passed a hand over the top of his head, "however, there's nothing I can do now, with no equipment. What do you want to do, Jack?"

He didn't answer at first; he took a few longer breaths and then whispered,

"We need to keep moving, get out of here somehow… Just let me rest a bit more and I'll be fine." Jack opened his eyes and smiled; the right one opened a fraction more than it had only a few minutes prior. "See? I can already open it further."

The doctor in Owen told him that Jack, despite defying death on a disturbingly frequent basis, needed rest, medication even. Owen Harper of Torchwood, however, knew that what the captain said went. He locked eyes with Jack for a moment and saw that he wasn't entirely there, but struggling against unconsciousness and pain, agony more like.

The toadman sighed. Conceding defeat, he sat back on his heels and stood.

"Help me up." Jack tacked a smile to the tail of the plea.

Ianto stepped in then, and Owen readily allowed him to hoist Jack onto unsteady feet. It was now Gwen and the tea boy's joint responsibility to support the captain, who had regained some composure.

Jack sighed and drew a few deep breaths. "Onward, team."

Gwen chuckled, Ianto smiled, Owen rolled his eyes, and Toshiko's lips twitched.

* * *

It's short, cleaned to sparkling, and I felt like updating early. But I may not update on Friday or Saturday, so savor this! When I started writing it, I said "it'll be longer than the last one" but I think I failed that... 

**Agua Mage**: I fulfilled your "request" and still kept the story going! Wewt!

Does anyone else think that was a whole chapter of filler?

Well, they're on the move once again. What will they find next?

Random question: what do you think about OC's in fanfics? (not saying I'm going to do so, but just as a question)

Again, I thank all the reviewers , and readers, even though, if you don't review, I don't really know if you've read it because there's no hard proof….

- Willow


	8. 8

Chapter 8! Wewt!

Ok, so first chapter, the _left_ side of Jack's head was hurtin' because he got whacked there, not by Gwen. When he encountered Gwen, she got his _right_ side. And compared to the right, that left bit that was a minor hurting is NOTHING. I _do_ know who has sustained what injuries. Some of them are digressing from my original plan, but…. Oh hey!

—skips off to write next three chapters—

Sorry I didn't update on the weekend. There was a lot of this chapter to write, and I even changed a whole section. Here's the finished product. Enjoy.

Let the game begin

* * *

All doubts had been chased from his mind, even those that infected the dusty crevasses. The doubt that the pain would never lessen crumpled under the encouraging warmth of Gwen and Ianto, and even Owen's words of poison possessed a tantalizing hope of falsity. But Jack knew, in the lucid exterior of thought, that poison loped rampant through his body. His stomach felt heavy, while his upper torso seemed to be hollowed; his hands and feet tingled with static pinpricks, and his head, for all he knew, could be made of cotton, except for the lead side that howled with every pulsation of blood. 

Jack really, really wanted a gun right now.

He had no idea how long they had been walking, and he didn't particularly care. His awareness of everything had severely declined since being lifted from the ground. He wasn't even completely certain he moved his feet whatsoever, something he was sorry for. Poor Ianto and Gwen having to drag him along... There was something he knew: the poison was slow-acting, which was why he had seemed to recover however long ago it was, and then keel over so recently. Probably something non-lethal, because —he knew from experience— one never went to this much trouble with a person to simply off them. They would have to do something to get out, or find the counter to the enemy slogging Jack's system.

Something changed around him. They were stopped. Jack worked to open his eyes, and saw that Owen was holding a silver tape player...

"That's just like the one I had!" Gwen exclaimed and pointed an accusing finger at the device. Jack winced at the volume of her voice.

"Play it."

They all looked at Jack, who sagged heavily between Gwen and Ianto. If not for his occasional harsh breath, he could be taken for a corpse.

Owen nodded and pressed play.

"Hello, Torchwood Three. I trust you have all found each other by this point. If you have not, then one of your teammates is surely dead. But you all seem smarter than that."

"It's the same man—"

"Shh!" Owen hissed, raising the volume of the tiny speaker and coming a few steps closer to Jack and his human crutches.

"You will by now have come to realize that not all his right with Captain Harkness. Owen, I'm sure, has concluded it is a poison. Correct. It is slow-acting, and so you, Jack, thought everything was getting better. But things have only just begun."

The rasping man paused.

"You have completed the task of finding one another. Now it is time for the first real test. Listen closely, Ianto. Your captain won't be able to help you."

Ianto left Jack hanging on Gwen and closed the space between himself and Owen. The toadman and the tea boy exchanged quick glances before focusing once more on the tape.

"At the end of this hall stands a door, behind which your first test is to be found. It requires only one person to complete, so choose your participant carefully. If you succeed, you will receive that which can help your captain, and be one step closer to freedom. Further instructions are on the other side of this tape. Play it once you are within the room."

It clicked off.

No one spoke.

"Jack? What should we do?" Hesitation clung to Gwen's voice like creepers to a wall.

He looked up and gave a wry, rueful smile. "We go in the room."

Another bout of silence claimed them.

Gwen felt Jack's grip on her tighten, and she pulled him a little farther off the ground.

"C'mon, Ianto, help me with him."

When Ianto failed to respond beyond a few fish-flaps of his mouth, Owen stepped forward and took Jack's other arm around his shoulder. They started forward to an unknown beginning, apprehension and fear snaking behind their navels. Gwen's legs felt thinned, as if water instead of blood raced through the appendages. She tried to focus on supporting Jack. On Jack's other side, Owen thought he would, for once, be chivalrous and do whatever...test awaited them: Ianto just did not seem a great candidate for dealing with anything horrifying; Gwen, he wanted to spare from damage of all sorts as much as possible; Jack was useless and Tosh... Tosh frightened him. He glanced back at her. Her lips moved silently and her eyes focused on the floor. Ianto was looking at her with a mixture of concern and fearful confusion. He seemed unsettled by her presence, because his pace quickened so that he walked abreast Jack and his supports.

They didn't have to walk far to reach the door.

Ianto placed a hand flat on its cold surface, waiting for either Owen or Jack to give him the memory of exposing their first horror.

"Open it, Ianto," Jack said without moving his head from where it rested on Owen's shoulder. The heat radiating from his forehead made Owen uncomfortable.

Ianto hesitated another dozen seconds before pushing on the door. It opened with an ease and absence of sound that suggested it had been opened before now. The tea boy was about to ask Jack if he really wanted to proceed when the captain spoke.

"I'm sure that if he wanted us dead, he would have done so already. We're right behind you, Ianto."

The tea boy nodded and stepped forward, followed closely by everyone else.

"Oh fuck me," Owen mumbled.

Gwen's eyes widened even further, and Jack lifted his head to see what made Owen sound so disbelieving.

"You have _got_ to be joking." Anger seethed from Jack's quiet voice.

They were standing on a three-foot wide platform, looking down into a steel drum approximately twelve feet tall. Stretching above it, a precariously narrow catwalk made a path across its diameter. A rope ladder hung from the grid-work underbelly of the catwalk, descending straight into a squealing, reeking mass of rats. They stank of urine and feces, blood and rotten flesh. An effluvium of malice hovered above the quarreling rodents. Ceaselessly moving and constantly noisy, their sheer number intimidated the humans' confidence.

"Play the tape."

"What?" Owen shook himself, turning away from the disgusting sight to face his captain.

"Play the tape so you can find out why the hell every rat in the sewer system is down there."

Owen nodded solemnly and opened the tape player, extracting the cassette and reversing its playing side.

"Welcome to your first test. Your day to day jobs require that you deal with unordinary and alien things. You see the wonders of other worlds, but are nearly blind to the horrors

of the land your very feet walk upon. That incident in the country is the only human thing your organization has dealt with."

"But now you are going to partake in the grunge that permeates the human existence. Somewhere underneath those rats is a small container, inside which is a code. This code unlocks the box on the other side of the catwalk, and inside that box is the antidote for your beloved captain. Should you fail to retrieve the code, Mr. Harkness will not be the only one to suffer."

"Be careful of the rats. They haven't eaten anyone for a few days." There was a smile behind the words.

"Let the game begin."

Owen glared at the player as the tape clicked off. He was about to speak when the door slammed shut, making all present but Toshiko startle.

"Great. Just great. What are we going to do now?" Gwen directed her question to Jack.

"We do what he says. One of you's gotta go down there."

No one volunteered. The noise the rats reminded Torchwood that, eventually, something would have to be done.

"I'll do it," Ianto said after the prolonged silence. He stepped up to the catwalk, but Owen grabbed his shoulder and spun him around.

"Ianto, I don't think your backside is rough enough to withstand a thousand carnivorous rats. Step back and make sure no one does anything rash."

A chuckle came from Gwen's side.

"Taking charge of the situation, Owen?"

Owen shrugged. "Someone's got to. And seeing as you're incapacitated, yeah, I'm bossing the situation."

Jack nodded his head at the steel drum. "Then proceed."

Owen gulped and started forward. The catwalk swayed under his feet, but he kept forward with grim determination. Once he reached the area where the ladder dangled, he closed his eyes and thought how much Jack had better appreciate this. Go into a mess of rats, unarmed and in bare feet. If that didn't show commitment to the team, Owen couldn't name what did.

As he placed a foot on the ladder, the smell from below sent a powerful waft upwards; Owen gagged and put one hand over his mouth. He thought he'd be able to handle it. After all, how hard could it be to find a box of unknown size in a pit of starving rats? Without any shoes or weapons to speak of whatsoever...

Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, Owen dropped the last foot.

It was entirely different from what he anticipated. The rats, instead of running away, launched at his exposed feet, teeth bared. One latched on to his foot and he shook it off, swearing loudly. But it wasn't the only one to try it. Before Owen could work out a methodical way to search for the code's container, a dozen of the fetid rodents were attacking him. He kicked them away when possible, and when they became too many to do that, he began crunching their skulls. This seemed to help a bit; the dead bodies were easier to shift and step over than the live ones. And as they became aware that the flesh they sought fought back, the rats went at him with less vigor. However, despite this, Owen had a fair amount of bites on his feet and ankles by the time he decided upon the best way to search out the box. He tried to ignore the gore/waste paste coating his feet.

"You okay, Owen?" Gwen called from the edge of the steel drum.

"Just peachy, thanks!" Without waiting for her to offer response, he returned to his business of kicking rats into the walls.

He first trudged straight for the side of the rat pit. Once there, we worked his way along the perimeter, nudging rats out of his path until he was able to see the filth covered floor. He figured that any container would be relatively obvious. He also had the suspicion that the box would be in some random position closer to the interior. So he waded his way in a slowly descending spiral, with the rope ladder as its focal point.

Not only was the waste disgusting, its presence in Owen's cuts irked him. An infection would all too likely form. Infected wounds were bad enough, but on the feet...

Owen stumbled over something that felt neither like dead nor live rat. With only a half glance, he stooped to grab it. The small, rectangular box came free easily, but a rat jumped at Owen and bit onto his finger; he yelled incoherently at it and then whacked it against the ground. Its skull and half its body caved in and splattered a line of blood across Owen's nose.

"Owen! Come on!" Gwen crouched at the top of the ladder, one hand extended down to Owen. He took it, handing her the box. Once he was on the platform, he sat there, trying to calm his nerves. The smell and sound, however, coming from below him did nothing to help.

"Owen?"

"Just get that box open and give Jack what he needs."

Gwen gave Owen a nod he would never see and strode to the opposite end of the catwalk.

She slid the smaller box open: a ten digit number was sharpied across the bottom.

" 179," Gwen muttered as she slowly tapped the number on the keypad, "894... 63...8...0!"

A click sounded from within the six inch deep box and the front pane swung open. Inside there was a syringe filled with a pale red liquid, and a first aid kit. Gwen grabbed both and hurried back to Owen.

"There was a first aid kit in there, Owen."

"Great," he opened his eyes and pushed himself to his feet, wincing at his first step on the grid-worked platform. "Let's sit down for a moment."

Owen thumped down next to Jack. Gwen handed him the syringe; Owen pushed back the sleeve of Jack's coat to expose the blue vein.

"Hold still, Jack."

"Of course." His smile had a little more strength than his previous one.

Owen slid the needle into the vein and slowly pushed the fluid into Jack's bloodstream.

A relaxed expression passed over the captain's face, his eyes slid shut, and his smile broadened.

"_That_ is the way to kill a headache." Jack opened his eyes again, sighing somewhat contentedly. He looked his team over: Ianto, standing as far away from Toshiko and as close to him as possible, Gwen crouched next to him and Owen with his bleeding feet stretched in front of him...

"Owen, the...?"

"_Rats_."

Jack mouthed an "oh" and shook his head, scowling.

Owen, meanwhile, had the first aid kit opened and was already cleaning his feet with alcohol wipes. Every time the disinfectant passed over a bite, he winced. By the time he finished with one foot, he had used half the individual-wipe packets in the small kit.

"Fucking rats. Never liked 'em..."

Jack glanced at their resident medic with concerned eyes, and then let his head tilt against the wall, a light sleep grasping him.

"One by one we bite the dust."

"What?" Gwen looked up to Toshiko: she had her computer hugged tightly to her chest, and she continued speaking as if no one else were there.

"We kick the bucket and begin to rust."

"Tosh, you're not making sense."

"Give up the ghost when your number's up."

She smiled crookedly, catching everyone in her gaze.

"We all fall down."

* * *

Ok, so... how do people think that went? 

:::All of Tosh's last lines are from the Creature Feater song "A Gorey Demise"::: awesome song, and I have the link to it if anyone wants to listen. Just email me with the song as the subject.

A zillion thanks to reviewers. If you can prove to me that you were responsible for someone reading and reviewing this, I may have a prize for you ;)

-Willow


	9. 9

Chapter nueve, where to start...

I died, I apologize. School is out to kill me. A head's up: I'm going to try this national novel writing thing for november, so I don't know when I'll have a chance to work on this. Well, never mind, I'll end up working on it anyways. But I can't guarantee the writing will be any good T.T

Thank you to all the super special awesome reviewers! You know who you are. Lurkers, you know who you are. Yeah, I have lists!

Let the game begin

* * *

"Owen?"

"What?"

"You ready?"

Owen sighed, looking once more at his hastily bandaged feet. He wished he had something to put over the dressings. As they were, all manner of contaminants could seep through the gauze. The rats' saliva, paired with the questionable floors, made infection almost inescapable. But not even with these conditions would he concede to being carried. By anyone.

So when Gwen helped him to his feet, he ignored the hot sting radiating from his toes upwards. Although he must have winced, because Gwen's eyebrows drew together.

"I'm fine."

"Yeah, that's exactly what Jack said."

"He's Jack."

"And what is that supposed to mean?"

Owen sighed forcefully. "It means it's an explanation in and of itself. C'mon." He shouldered past her, through the door Ianto held open, and into the hall. Gwen shot him an exasperated look. She glanced back at Jack. He finally stood on his own, although he still seemed as if he were in some amount of pain. Which was to be expected. He'd heal soon enough, one thing in their favor.

Maybe the _only_ thing in their favor.

Jack grinned at her.

"Feeling better?" Gwen asked with some skepticism.

"Quite."

"Really?"

"Honest." To satisfy her, he walked straight out the door, patted Ianto on the shoulder, waved briefly, and started down the hall.

Gwen realized she was now alone with Toshiko. Sparing her begrimed appearance less than a glance, Gwen hurried after Jack into the hall. She didn't wait to see what everyone else was doing and went straight to occupying the space between Jack and Owen.

-

"So what do we do now?" Gwen asked after a long stretch of silent walking.

Jack responded without looking back. "Keep going until we find more instructions. Unless there's something else we can do?"

Gwen shook her head slowly, rubbing at the goose pimples raising the hair on her arms. Warming the stiff appendages became an almost frantic mission: if she could control something as minute as her skin, she could make better sense of this horrific situation. The uncertainty of not knowing what would happen irked her. Everything was unexpected, instilling annoyance as much as another feeling, primitive, absolute, unquenchable. Gwen used the annoyance as a distraction from the cold, isopropyl alcohol sensation roiling in her stomach. Fear. The verity of their situation finally sank in, and Gwen realized just how fucked they really were.

Silence prickled around them. They continued walking, making no eye contact and not a single attempt at conversation. There was no need for it: each could guess what the others thought. This whole thing was worse than the rural cannibals. Far worse. Just from what each of them had to do to regroup, it was evident this was something orchestrated _specifically_ for them. The man responsible knew who they were, what they did. Knew what they would do and planned flawlessly for it. He had placed himself in an almost godly position. Their lives from the beginning of this to the end were controlled by him, unseen and unknown. They could do nothing to prevent it, nothing to retaliate. They were trapped.

He was playing with them.

Jack wanted to kill the sick fuck. Who was he to invade their lives and set these "tasks" upon them? Go around and... how exactly _had_ he gotten them all here? Jack dredged up the last thing he remembered. It was after they got back from the countryside. Everyone except he and Ianto had gone home. Jack was leaving his office to find Ianto...and then there was a huge gap between then and when he awoke, strapped into that vile harness.

That unsettled him.

Did everyone else have the same problem?

"Gwen, what's the last thing you remember?"

"I..." her eyes darted to Owen before swinging back around to Jack, "I went home." Gwen knew as soon as the words were out of her mouth that they were unconvincing.

"What else?"

"There was nothing else. I watched something with Rhys...And then it just gets sorta... fuzzy."

Jack nodded, suspicions growing stronger in conviction. "Owen, how about you?"

"Between going home and waking up in that room, nothing."

Jack sighed. "Same for you, Ianto?"

"Aye, sir."

The captain's anger flared and he growled low in his throat, barely audible.

"Whoever this is, he knows what he's doing."

No one responded. Jack stopped walking and turned to face them; Toshiko's head twitched in his direction, dark eyes locking with his for a moment. Then she tilted her head downwards and Jack was spared that perturbing gaze. Ianto looked directly at him, Gwen a little to his left, and Owen's eyes shifted places every few moments.

"The question is why he's doing this."

When they still didn't offer input, Jack huffed and started forward again.

"Jack..."

"Yes?" He faced Gwen, walking backwards.

"Nothing."

"Come on then."

Gwen glanced back at Owen. He shrugged and sighed, moving to follow Jack. Ianto smiled and did likewise. Gwen looked at Tosh for a moment longer than she had previously, eyes roving over her bloodied face, the dirty laptop.

"Coming, Tosh?"

She wordlessly brushed past Gwen; Gwen scowled and set her pace so that she walked closer to the front of their little group.

Ahead of them, a turn showed in the scant lighting. At the corner where light should have been visible, however, it was dark. It made Gwen immeasurably uncomfortable; to Owen it was an inconvenience that has the faintest hint of danger; Ianto made a note to walk as close to someone as possible without raising suspicions; Toshiko failed to notice because the ground remained the only thing she saw.

Jack glanced back at his team, not hesitating the slightest as he stepped in to the all-encompassing black.

"Jack!" Gwen shouted and ran forward: Jack stepped back into view, smiling.

"What?"

"Don't just go walking right—"

"Did you want to be first?"

Gwen promptly closed her mouth, shook her head.

"Well, no telling what wondrously entertaining events await. Come hither, children."

Owen grumbled something unintelligible under his breath. Jack shot him a warning look and went once more into the darkness.

Gwen made haste to keep up to him. She found his arm and latched onto it; Jack chuckled.

"Scared of the dark?"

"No."

He smiled against the blackness. "Don't worry, you're with the Captain."

"That's exactly why I'm worried."

No response lent itself to him.

Something bumped into him from behind, almost tripping him as weight was put onto the tail of his coat.

"Sorry," Ianto offered, shifting to Jack's right.

"Just be more care—"

The words died as his stomach occupied most of his throat: the floor seemed to no longer be there. He heard a gasp and a curse before hitting something metal and slanted. As he slid downwards, three other bodies piled into his; the combined weight accelerated their descent. Jack invested a large amount of hope into the possibility they would escape landing on anything lethal.

He tried to reposition himself so that his feet pointed downwards, but hard surface once more disappeared. He landed atop someone, one of their legs falling over his neck; the rest of his body hit the cement with a cold smacking sound. Before he could roll out of the way, a warm body with the suggestion of breasts dropped on him, an elbow to the stomach expelling all the air from his lungs.

And then the rest of the team fell.

The weight prevented him from gathering air, and the lack of oxygen made his head pound with a snippety fire. He attempted to shift the pile, but his arms were pinned by two separate bodies. Jack rolled his eyes in frustration, beginning to feel sorry for whomever the other four members of Torchwood Three crushed.

After an initial collectively shocked moment, whoever was bloody fortunate to be on top rolled away. Unable to stand the lack of air any longer, Jack nudged the female atop him. She squeaked.

Jack couldn't help but smile. "Ticklish?" he managed, a breathless whisper.

"Jack! I'm so—"

"Don't say it. Just move."

All the weight left him.

"I never thought I'd dislike being on the bottom."

Owen scoffed. "You weren't completely on the bottom. Ianto was."

Jack glanced back at him.

Owen knelt at Ianto's side, shining a small torch he had produced from his pocket in Ianto's eyes. Once he released the tea boy's eyelids, they slid shut; Ianto was unconscious.

"He's got a concussion."

"Great."

Jack bent down, putting one arm under Ianto's knees, the other supporting his back. He stood, wincing slightly, and repositioned Ianto so that the tea boy hung over his shoulder. Owen raised an eyebrow at the captain, but Jack ignored it and started forward. However, he underestimated the effort it would actually take to carry Ianto, and nearly dropped him. Gwen and Owen came forward and relieved him of his burden. Wordlessly, Owen hefted Ianto around his shoulders, nodded at Jack to continue. Jack acknowledged it with a small smile.

Gwen turned to Owen, and got as far as "Do—" before Jack spoke.

"There's a door here. Let's see what our tormentor has set upon us this time."

* * *

Ok, I know nothing really happened... but this is just wear it ended x.x

And it's getting increasingly harder to find the second season of Doctor Who online.

A thanks to my friend, who brainstorms with me during the math class from hell. You know who you are ;P

Please review. Tell me what you think should be improved, and feel free to critique the actual writing!

-Willow


	10. 10

Number ten! Sorry I took it dow, but I think this is much, much better than what happened the first time...so...yeah. Read on and review!

Reviews keep the muses awake.

Let the game begin.

* * *

"Oh god—" Gwen whirled away from the room, staggering a few more yards down the hall before dry-heaving. Owen turned away with disgust, following Gwen; Jack didn't quite know what to make of the sight, and Tosh didn't even stop to look.

The smell didn't help matters. Warm, intrusive: the kind of rancor that you can feel, that no matter what way you breathe, you can taste the fetid mold and decay of whatever dead thing you have stumbled upon. It was the kind of thing you smelled when you came across a dead animal, the smell that said, _stay back, kid. I don't bite anymore, but if you poke me, make sure it's with a long stick. My soul mate is decay, my hide poison. _The smell of death and disease, the smell immediately accompanying organic dead bodies.

There were a lot of bodies.

There was also a tape player, hanging from the neck of what looked to be a small calf. It was hard to tell: most of the remaining internal organs hung from the slit belly, a stringy mess of flies and maggots. The majority of what Jack assumed to be the head buzzed, a black mass of insects. It could have been any small four-legged creature.

"Jack? What is it?" Both Gwen's hands covered her mouth as she inched forward.

"Tape player."

Attempting to ignore the smell, Jack stepped in to the room and grasped the player. He pulled it towards him, and the rancid carcass followed; there would be no way to play the tape without dragging the whole dead thing with it. So Jack clicked the tap on with one hand while the other covered his mouth and nose.

"Congratulations, you are still alive. You should by now have figured out that escaping here will not be easy. You are being tested, your will is being tested. Your will to survive."

Jack coughed, spit to the side, and raised the volume on the tape player.

"The bodies you see before you are...a collection, in various stages of decomposition and decay. Among them are a few things you may recognize. You must find that which was left by those that killed your love, Captain Jack Harkness."

Jack let the player and its rotting companion swing lazily back, then turned to see Gwen eyeing him with something akin to concern. She looked as if she wanted to speak, but she was looking at something behind Jack, eyes wide. He faced the room of decay once more; long strips of overhead fluorescents winked on to show the room in the entirety of its macabre. The grey floor beneath was hardly visible beneath the heaps of bones and scattered bodies, animal and human. Some looked freshly dead, others as if they had been rotting here for a few weeks, and longer. Jack's eyes roved over the mess, the horror, and saw what the tape had been referring to. He grimaced behind his hand, dread sprouting with morbid vivacity in his chest.

In the middle of the room, the bodies of rodents formed a circle around three dead humans: Torchwood three's captor had made a grotesque imitation of what the fairies left behind. The humans, however, carried all the trademarks of a death by those ancient creatures. Even though the skin was sunken and the rose petals dried, Jack was unable to suppress the shudder that danced along his spine. He shivered. Gwen noticed.

"You don't have to do this, Jack."

He could tell she knew he'd refuse anything she offered.

"No, I have to do this."

He looked at the three bodies again. Grey skin, wrinkled and lifeless...mouths open, grey hair plastered to the skull. Everywhere dry except for where she lay, that stupid cat sitting there and blinking stupidly as he cradled the dead woman he had fallen in love with all those years ago. Gwen, ever sympathetic, wanting to comfort him. Didn't she understand this was not a matter she could help with at all?

Jack ripped himself back to rancid reality, taking a deep breath of the warm, frowsty air. He let it nauseate his stomach and disgust his throat. He absorbed the putrid stench the way he would absorb an electric shock: with the full anticipation of bodily harm and the promise of a shoddy death. He ignored Gwen asking him to come back, ignored the flies that landed fleetingly on his shoulders, ignored the crunch of insects and the squelch of body matter under his bear feet. His only intent was to get what he needed and prove to this psycho that Captain Jack Harkness was not easily conquerable. Jack had seen death more times than he cared to count. What difference did it make if the way he went happened to be twisted?

The first of the bodies was male and stark naked. Black petals teased Jack from the dried mouth, the man's chest gaped, and the rotted heart beat with a throbbing pulsation of maggots. Adamant that the rasping man from the tapes would never successfully discomfit him, Jack plunged his hand into the nest of nastiness. He felt through the wriggling parasites and sickening, retired organs, for anything that should not be there; a key, a small box, a tape. Anything. And he found nothing. His hands encountered only decomposing human and invasive bugs. He went lower, tearing at the brittle flesh over the sunken belly. He nearly gagged on the stab of warm, fetid gas that roiled off the disturbed corpse. He went on, ignoring it. His search quickened in tempo as he became almost frantic on finding the briefly mentioned clue.

This body had nothing for him; he moved on.

The next body was also male, and he had most of his clothes on. But they were poked with holes, dirty, and crusty were blood and bile that had seeped from animal carcasses hanging above. Jack ripped the flimsy shirt open and stared at the eaten abdomen, pointedly not looking at his hands as he parted the decomposing flesh. His hand brushed against something deceptively solid, and he grasped it, yanking upwards. It was only a dead mouse, the partial skeleton held together by scant sinew. Still determined to beat this, Jack rolled the body closer to the circle of deceased rats. He cried out with triumph when an envelope, encased in a plastic bag, peeked in to view.

He snatched it up, stood, and exited the room.

"Jack what did you—" Gwen turned her head away from him and coughed; Jack walked past her, opening the bag and discarding it. He tore open one side of the envelope and dumped the contents into his palm.

Another tape and another key.

That didn't really explain anything.

Jack growled and dropped the objects into his coat pocket.

"Bloody hell, Jack, what did you _do_ in there?" Owen asked when Jack reached him.

Jack shrugged and kept walking.

"Did you see what he did?"

Gwen halted next to Owen, glanced at Ianto's closed eyes, looked over her shoulder as Tosh passed them silently.

"He dug through two carcasses looking for something, and he found it."

Owen scoffed. "Great. Well, he stinks just as bad as the room did. And now we've got it wherever we go—"

"Owen, just shut up."

"I _can_ still hear you," Jack remarked from in front of them. He stopped, turned around, and smiled. "You think this is bad, you should have seen me during the War."

Gwen returned the grin, but with less ease; Owen rolled his eyes and kept walking.

"What did you find?" he addressed Jack.

"Tape and a key."

"Lovely. Seems to be all we're finding."

"We're making progress."

Owen scoffed again.

They walked in a rough line: Gwen to Jack's left, Owen to his right and a little behind, and Toshiko a decent four yards behind them. The corridor went on in the same fashion the others had, and they fell into silent monotony of grey and failing lights.

After what couldn't have been more than fifteen minutes, there came another dark section. Gwen hesitated, but Owen kept going. Jack threw an arm out to stop him, which Owen avoided, not wanting any stench to cling to himself.

"Jack, what is it?"

"Step back."

Owen rolled his eyes and grumbled something unintelligible, but complied, stepping back and setting Ianto against the bare wall.

"Gah! _Damn it_! Does anyone have a torch?"


	11. 11

Chapter 11! Sorry to repost 10, but it was just...no. Crappy ending that I stuck there because I wanted to post. I also realized the last three chapter titles all start with "d" oO

Reviews make me happy, and they make me all the more willing to post faster. I think **Aqua Mage**, **Batman'sBeauty18** and **DeMarcos** are the main reasons I try to update frequently. I know they read it because they tell me! So _please _review with anything about the story, the writing itself, ideas, what you'd like to see, questions.

Chapter helped in part by **DeMarcos**

Let the game begin.

* * *

It was Jack who had spoken, and that had been an exclamation of...frustration? Pain? From the sound of it, an even mixture of the two. Why did he need a torch? 

"Jack, are you alright?"

"Yeah, I just need some light."

"I've got one in my pocket. The left one, Gwen." Owen did a little hip waggle to show her; Gwen stifled a giggle.

She came forward, ready to get the torch, when a rattling came from in front of them.

"Jack?"

"Just—"

The fluorescent lights resident of every hall flickered on; Gwen gaped at Jack and the entangled mess that he was. He smiled sheepishly, almost. Laugher hid under that grin, danced around his eyes. Gwen wondered what he could have to laugh at when he was completely trapped in barbed wire. She didn't wonder about it long, however, because she spotted the tape player dangling, taunting, from a strand of the serrated metal, not far from Jack.

"Ha! Barbed wire!" Jack shook his head, grinning. He sounded incredulous. "And I loved this coat so much."

Gwen gave a short snort of laughter before turning serious.

"This isn't funny, Jack. You're caught up in _barbed wire_."

"As if I didn't notice. Gwen, there's a tape...in the front...of my coat," Jack said as he twisted in the wire snare, grimacing as the razor-sharp barbs ripped at his coat and skin. As he moved, the wires —which extended as far as Gwen could see in the shoddy lighting— clanged together and made hollow, grating noises.

With a yowl, Jack managed to free one of his arms; his coat sleeve ripped clear from shoulder to elbow, leaving a dark red line to show beneath. He dug around in the left pocket, wincing occasionally as he shifted a little too much and the points pricked him. Once he found the tape, he tossed it to Gwen; she slipped it in the player, hoping it was on the right side.

"You have undoubtedly stumbled upon your next test. Mr. Harkness, I am sure, has sacrificed himself once more and is tangled in this intricate web before you."

Owen was scowling at the cassette player; Gwen kept looking from it to Jack. Jack kept wincing.

"Pain is an illusion. It is something the body fabricates in order to avoid destruction. The path before you is dangerous but navigable. Simply find the right way through and you will be all that much closer to the end. But beware, mistakes are costly in this game. Make one wrong move and it could end your life. You have twenty minutes until the lights switch off. If by that point you are not all the way through..."

The smile behind the words made Gwen hate this man even more.

"...then game over."

Gwen clicked the player off.

"There could be more on there!" Owen protested.

"There's not," Jack seethed. Owen glared, curling his lip at the captain. Jack glared back and Owen scoffed, folding his arms across his chest.

"Well, what are we waiting for?" Owen piped up, sarcastically chipper.

Gwen sent him an "oh stop" look. "We need to get Jack out first. And what do we do with Ianto?"

"Wake him up," Jack put in, using his free hand to pull away the wire clinging to his other shoulder. Once his second arm was free, he shook his leg loose, stepping carefully over a lower wire. When he put his foot down, however, he swore and immediately brought it back up.

"Jack?"

"Razors," he supplied through gritted teeth, holding the bleeding foot.

Gwen walked to the left, seeing Jack from a different perspective.

The razors were set in such a way that someone walking straight forward would not notice them until stepping on the blades; they were also placed randomly. It gave the chance of being sliced, or continuing forward for a bit longer until you reached the wire. Jack had, evidently, missed the razors the first time, but was not so fortunate on his return step.

"God, this stings." He hissed through clenched teeth. Blood dripped lazily between his fingers, coloring the drab floor in tiny splashes. Jack thought back to a mediocre piece of abstract art he had seen once. Turned out the artist had been using real blood...

Gwen came forward at an angle so that the light continued to reflect off the razors. She extended her hand to Jack and helped him to hobble over to Ianto. Owen seemed to be contemplating the most...advantageous...way to awake the tea boy. But with Jack behind him, he settled on a gentle shaking of the shoulders. When that failed to work, he patted Ianto's cheeks. It garnered a small groan from him, and not much else.

"We're going to have to help in through it anyways." Owen said it in a way that suggested he wanted to add "might as well carry the lucky bastard."

"Yeah, but it'll be a lot easier if he's conscious," Jack said dryly.

"Then you bring 'im round," Owen snapped.

Jack sighed tiredly, pinched the bridge of his nose. He crouched in front of Ianto, putting a hand on the tea boy's shoulder.

"Ianto." Jack lightly squeezed Ianto's shoulder.

Ianto groaned once more, and his eyes slowly opened.

"How long was I out?"

"Not long." Jack smiled kindly, stood, and offered a hand to Ianto.

"Jack, what happened?" Ianto was frowning at the blood on Jack's hand. Jack grinned and offered the other one. Ianto took it and closed his eyes as the blood rushed to his head upon standing.

Jack nodded in the direction of the hazardous pathway. Ianto looked around Jack's shoulder, a hand pressed to the side of his head. The tea boy blinked a few times before stepping forward.

"Careful, there're razors on the floor," Gwen cautioned.

Ianto stood before the metal intricacy presented to them with his arms crossed; a pensive look furrowed his features slightly. He was studying the trap, scrutinizing every thread of wire and each gleaming blade. He tried to ignore his aching skull and concentrate, because he knew to miscalculate would cost life or limb, the two things he was rather quite attached to. And aside from the headache, there was Toshiko. Her presence behind him was like a grain of sand at the peripheral of his awareness, niggling at the little thoughts that dashed, rampant, through his pounding brain. Ianto couldn't exactly place what made him particularly uneasy, but he knew he'd rather risk the razor maze than stand with his back exposed to her.

He didn't even glance back as he stepped forward. He had to stoop to avoid the wires above his head, carefully lift and place his feet, and keep his sleeves from snagging on the sharp points. It was difficult, however, to look everywhere at once and still keep his balance. At one point, he stepped on a patch of something wet and had to hurriedly put his other foot down. It narrowly missed a razor; he felt the side of the blade against his foot, the sharp edge pressing coyly against his bare toe. Vaguely, Ianto wondered if anyone else had started in behind him. When he came to a place where he could stoop less awkwardly with both feet on the ground, he looked behind him.

Gwen was a little ways back, trying unsuccessfully to disentangle a bit of her hair from a barb. Jack had evidently found an alternate path: he was to Gwen's right and closer to Ianto. When Jack saw Ianto looking at him, he smiled.

"Sir, was there a tape?"

"Uh-huh," Jack cringed as he swung under a wire. It raked along his jaw, leaving a thin finger of red reaching all the way to his ear.

"What did it say?"

"That the lights shut off in twenty minutes, so we'd better be through by then."

"And that was it?"

"Yeah. Why?" Jack looked up, meeting Ianto's eyes. The captain's expression slowly fell; he rammed his hand into his pocket and withdrew the tape player, thumbed down the "play" button.

There were a few taught seconds of silence, and then the voice came back.

"Pain is not the only illusion here, Torchwood."

Jack frowned at the player; Gwen gave a small, nervous giggle of triumph at having freed her hair.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?!" Owen shouted from somewhere past Gwen.

"Exactly what it sounds like." Ianto sounded almost cryptic.

Gwen looked at Ianto, a perplexed look on her face.

"The wires and blades aren't the only things here."

Jack nodded thoughtfully and then took another ginger step forward. Ianto watched him intently, an uncomfortable foreboding nestling in the small of his back. Something was off...The coat. That long, heavy coat: Jack wasn't holding it up like he should have been, there was a wire he didn't notice...

Ianto started to say something to stop his boss from taking another step, but it happened before he was able to.

Jack' coat caught on one of the wires. Jack frowned back at it, tugging. The wire only came closer, and the coat stayed stuck. He shifted so he was now facing the way he had come, and pulled the wire closer to him. When he did so, there was a faint click. Clicks where never good.

Jack's heart plummeted.

Everyone froze. Ianto, wide-eyed and very much regretting everything that had happened in his life in the last however many hours, started moving forward again.

"Ianto, don't—" Jack grunted and jerked as something slammed into his side. He managed —amazingly— to keep his balance.

"God _damn _it!" he swore, looking at the piece of metal sticking out of his side. He grasped it between both hands and yanked, grimacing. For a moment it seemed stuck before Jack finally ripped it loose, crying out. He held it in up to the light, examining the bloody tip.

"Barbed."

He tossed it away and put a hand to his side, breathing shallowly. Jack knew that wouldn't be the last. He chose not to voice it and hope the rest of them would be lucky enough to avoid being hit. If one of them were hit in the chest, or the side...they might not survive.

Jack didn't really need anymore corpses in the Hub.

Ianto had started forward again, ducking more quickly now. The dread had slunk up his back, resting around his shoulders like some dead animal on the collar of an expensive coat. He needed to get out of here, _now_. He chanced another glance over his shoulder: Jack had managed to gain another few yards, Gwen was making healthy progress, and Owen still grumbled close behind her. Toshiko seemed unfazed by it all and continued on with her laptop tight to her chest. Sighing, Ianto rubbed the bridge of his nose, attempting to ignore the pain in his head and the cold fear synched around his neck.

He heard another click.

Somewhere, in the back of his skull, something screamed at him to move. Ianto didn't question it. He took a quick step forward, narrowly missing another razor patch. This, unfortunately, only spared him to a certain degree.

Ianto felt something pierce his thigh, clear through. He cried out, startled for an instant longer before feeling pain, and fell. Oh, he was well aware of what would happen when he fell, but he knew there was no way to prevent it. Something had just gone straight through his _femur_. There was nothing he could do to stay upright. He only wished he could have avoided more of the wires, because he knew what would happen once they were pulled taught. Ianto regretted he would cause the others pain.

"Ianto!" Jack and Gwen chorused.

Ianto at least had the sense to pull his arms in, sparing his hands any major lacerations. It still hurt immensely when he landed: razors cut through his suit coat, slit into his back; the barbed wire snared his arms, and the metal shaft protruding from his thigh caught on another wire, jarring his leg. Ianto gasped at the stinging fire that was his back, the excruciating throb from his thigh. All of it dwarfed the beatings in his head. He almost snorted at that. How trivial a concussion seemed in comparison to these newest hurts.

"Ianto?" Jack was kneeling besides him, working an arm under his back.

Ianto smiled feebly and allowed Jack to lift him from the ground.

"Owen, get your skinny ass over here."

"Oh fuck you! This isn't easy!"

"You think I don't know that?!" Jack bellowed, glowering crossly at the medic.

"Bloody Harkness," Owen mumbled under his breath, quietly enough that only Gwen heard him; she sighed and shook her head.

Owen reached them first, much to Gwen's dismay.

"What's so bloody— Oh god..." Owen saw the metal in Ianto's thigh and gaped. "What the _hell_ is that?"

Jack shrugged.

"What do you want me to do about it? If I pull it out, he'll bleed to death."

"You've got to keep moving," Ianto said breathily from Jack's arms. "They'll just keep coming."

As if on cue, there came a cracking sound from behind them: Toshiko was trembling, holding her laptop at arms' length from her body. Straight through the middle was another of the long, barbed darts. Toshiko was just lucky it had missed her head. Gwen opened her mouth to speak, but thought the energy would be put to better use scrambling for the end of this deathtrap. Needing to know how much more stress she would have to endure by not only dodging stationary wires, but wicked, unpredictable projectiles, Gwen looked forward. She swore she could see and end to the wires, and it renewed her efforts.

She sidestepped the three men, dipping low, walking sideways, and looking like a general fool. But Gwen didn't care. No one cared. Getting to the end of this meant getting closer to an exit, closer to escape, closer to reality. Closer to Rhys. She was careful not to catch on any of the wires; she knew well by now what would happen if she did. As she moved forward at a steady pace, the wires began thinning. Smiling, Gwen moved with renewed vigor. Freedom. So close. Just a few more awkward movements and she would be _free_ from all this hazardous metal.

Then came another click.

Gwen's eyes widened, her knees shook, and she began to deny death. The hell if she was going to die here, unknown and unfound for who could guess how long. Adrenaline spiked through her body, and she ducked faster, more frantically.

And then she was out. There was no more wire, no more razors on the floor.

No one was with her.

Gwen whirled around just in time to see something flash through the lights and imbed itself in the wall next to Jack and Ianto. Jack pulled back quickly: the quivering metal was bare inches from his nose. He puffed out a shaky breath and slunk under it, careful to keep Ianto's feet from snagging on nearby wires.

"C'mon, Jack, it's not much further." Gwen smiled, hoping to encourage him. Jack smiled back wearily, returning his attention to the barbs. Owen passed the two, working at a much faster pace on his own.

Jack finally made it out, panting slightly. He walked a ways from the deadly metal patch of oh-so-fond memories and set Ianto down. As soon has he did, he put a hand to his side, winced. Jack didn't entirely trust himself with standing, so he chose to sink next to Ianto; Ianto had his eyes closed and both hands on his leg, evidently trying to abate the pain by applying pressure. Gwen frowned and crouched in front of Jack.

"You alright?"

"You really should stop asking him that, he's not going to tell you the truth," Owen said as he hopped over the last wire. In keeping his balance, he threw a hand out, nicking it on the closest gleaming point. He growled and daubed it on the side of his shirt.

Jack glowered at Owen. The medic ignored it and knelt so that he could take a better look at Ianto's leg.

After a calculating moment, he declared, "Well, it's gone all the way through, and pulling it out won't do any good. Someone will have to help him walk, he shouldn't put any weight on it."

Gwen looked at Jack. He shook his head, looked to Owen.

"Oh why me?" Owen griped, standing.

"_Don't_ argue."

Owen and Jack glared at each other until Owen relented.

"Alright, Ianto, up you go."

"Thanks for offering to help, guys." Sarcastic. Hollowly so.

They looked back at Tosh, surprised. It was the first sane thing they had heard her say. Toshiko only glared at them, taking the shaft from her laptop and holding it in one hand, down at her side. Like a weapon. She walked past them without so much as a second glance. Gwen watched her, guilt lapping at her in the wake of the adrenaline rush.

Gwen wanted to say something. She wanted them all to talk; going on like this would wind up with one of them dead. They needed a plan, they needed to figure out what they were going to do when they were out. If they got out. Gwen was having doubts about their escape. Any more incapacitations like this and they would be unable to complete whatever tasks were set upon them. Gwen sincerely hoped the end was near. She didn't know how many more times she could keep her knees from giving out, how long Jack could keep injuring himself, how long the rest of them could cheat death.

For the first time, Gwen could truly admit to herself that she was terrified.


	12. 12

Ch. 12. Not much to say... Please, _please_ review! I know the site is slow sometimes, but the reviews just make me smile. And I'd love critique on my writing in general, if people could take the time to do that. I'm not making any money from this; reviews serve that purpose. They make it worth all the effort.

Sorry to upload it twice, there was typo that comepletely killed it. I gues that's what I get for editing it at 2 am.

Thanks go out to **DeMarcos **for supplying info and putting up with my teasing ;)

Let the game begin.

* * *

"Maybe we should see if there's anything on the other side of the tape," Gwen said when they stopped to rest. 

Owen lowered Ianto to the floor, situating him so that the tea boy could lean against the grime-crusted wall. Jack sat next to him, a hand on Ianto's shoulder. Ianto had his eyes closed, his mouth open slightly. He breathed deeply, shakily. Gwen frowned at his obvious show of pain; he was usually so reserved. Well, she pointed out to herself, he _did_ have a metal rod through his leg.

She also wondered how much longer could this go on.

An unnamable suspicion budded in the center of her chest. Gwen only wished she could know exactly where it came from. Perhaps it was the tape player: the little silver rectangles had, thus far, been the heralds of abject tribulation. The tapes were plastic messengers of damage, of pain, continuously leading to the uncertainty of whether or not they would live to see tomorrow. These rasping recordings only further plunged them into dark crannies of their subconscious, tinkered with their thoughts, questioned their rationality. Jack was forced to examine just how self-sacrificing he could be; Owen pondered whether joining Torchwood had been such a grand idea after all; Gwen worried over their survival; Ianto was more unsettled by Toshiko now then he had been in all the time he knew her; Toshiko...just snapped, for the most part.

And they were all more frightened than they would ever admit to each other.

By logic, there could only be one end: death. Just dead. From Life to nothing in an unmemorable, agonized instant. Death by psychopath.

It seemed befitting of Torchwood.

There they were, sitting on a chink in time and space. They dealt with all manner of inhuman things, worked with the impossible, tangled with the unbelievable. Every time they went to a new investigation, or on a weevil hunt, they chanced their lives and waltzed lazily around grave injury and death, taunting. What better way for that incomprehensibly powerful force to finally snuff them with an insane human puppet? Ending it that way was so _Homo sapiens_, so _earth_, so twenty-first century.

Jack almost laughed, but for the situation. Toshiko, with the few words she had spoken in the past however long it was, seemed cross with the rest of them; she more than likely would be of little help. Ianto's incapacitation underlined the fact that Jack could not spare his entire team injury. He could only do so much, being a single person. His body alone was not enough to shield four others, and something else would happen that he could not to prevent. He would get there too late, or fail to see a trap, and someone would die. Jack didn't think he could rebuild a team again. Not after this lot... He almost regretted that he had grown attached to the silly humans. Hell, he'd even miss _Owen_.

"Jack?"

Gwen must have been speaking to him; she was holding the tape player in two hands, not entirely unlike the way she had held the knife that killed Ed Morgan.

"Did you hear any of that?"

"Sorry?"

"The tape. Did you hear it at all?"

"No. Play it over."

She rewound it and clicked play, quivering with apprehension.

"Let me congratulate you on making it this far. The end is near, the last step leading to your salvation. All I ask of you is this final, simple thing: go down the hall to your left and climb the ladder. Nothing more than it appears, just the ladder and your freedom. I hope you have all come to realize that things alien and impossible are not the only ones capable of atrocities against man."

The tape ran out, and Jack frowned.

"That _can't_ be it. No way in _hell_ he'd just let us off that easy."

"That's what I said," Gwen put in, looking at the player. Not really knowing what to do with it, she offered it to Jack. He took it, holding it lightly, as if it might change its form to that of a cobra, or something equally as dangerous. At this point, he would have preferred it turn vicious. He needed something ludicrous for this un-reality they had awoken in. Then at least it would make sense.

Toying with them, all of this was. An elaborate, agonizing, ridiculously convoluted game. Testing their wills, ha! Fat lot of good that did anyone. Sure, Torchwood stepped on a few fingers, made enemies, kept Cardiff free of the little bits of the Rift that happened into the area. _Maybe_ they rushed into things, they _sometimes_ didn't think about the repercussions, neglected others outside their little penta-member agency of alien catchers. Perhaps a degree of recognition for the rest of the undisturbed world would do them some good.

Jack shook his head as he realized he had just been _coerced_ into this line of thought. It had to be exactly what this fiendish nutter wanted, for them to scrutinize themselves. Weevils would be attending university before that was going to happen, in all honesty. They may give it residence in a passing thought, but none of them would ever think about it in depth, not while life cowered under imminent death. Jack could tell fear dominated everyone to the point where a spare thought for anything besides escape just would _not_ happen.

"So, Jack, what do you propose we do? Just walk out and leave? Why the _fuck_ would he bother with all that—" Owen waved a hand in the direction of the wire trap, "just to let us _go_?" Even though he did not speak to anyone directly, Owen glared at Jack the entire time he shouted.

Jack scowled at Owen and rose, coming to stand uncomfortably close to the medic.

"If you haven't noticed, Owen, you're not the only one thinking that! We all want to get out of here. You're not an exception!"

"I never said I was!"

"Just stop, both of you!" Gwen attempted to push them apart; Owen flung her hand off and Jack shot her a warning look. Gwen stepped back without further protest.

"We've just done what the tape says. Every. Bloody. Time. And look where it's gotten us! The bear traps, the rats, the dead animals, the _barbed wire_! I'm bloody sick of it!"

"We all are—"

"And I'm not about to just blindly do whatever the _fuck_ this psychopath says! We keep on like this and we'll all be dead, except for you." Owen pointed an accusing finger at Jack's chest.

Jack's glare went from smoldering to flaming. "What are you saying, Owen?"

"I'm saying you're in a pretty good position to have set this up yourself."

Jack uttered a disbelieving bark of laughter. "You saw the gashes. I'm in the exact same position as you. I'm just as trapped, just as—"

"No, you're not. It doesn't matter what happens to you, you'll survive. You always do, Jack! What about the rest of us? We're only human. One slip-up, one bad crack to the head, and," he clapped his hands once, the sound sharply reverberating off the grey walls, "gone. What then, Jack? Will you carry our bodies on your back, take us to the real world, stuff us in the morgue? How are you going to find yourself a new team? How will you replace us, after all we've gone through." Owen's voice slowly lowered back to a normal pitch, the intent of his look changed; he shifted from menacing to questioning, and fear. Completely unguarded fear.

Jack swallowed. He knew he couldn't answer these questions, and he never would. Owen also knew that, and he was taking every possible advantage of Jack's uncertainty.

"Look, Owen. You need to—"

A hollow bang echoed to them, accompanied by a pleading cry of "No!" and closely followed by a snarl. Pounding feet, bare, slapping on the concrete. Coming towards them. Harsh breathing, ragged with terror, entwined with the feral growls; whatever it was that burst from some room ahead of them rushed closer.

Gwen moved closer to Jack, and Owen worked Ianto off the floor. Toshiko stood a yard or so in front of them, round face set in solemn determination. She held the spike the way one would hold a knife at the ready to attack; her other hand clamped the laptop over her heart, a shield with a hole that flaunted the skin of her chest and the grim of her ripped shirt. Jack stepped level with Toshiko. No reason to give Owen more reason to doubt his dedication to the team.

There came the hard thump of a body hitting the floor, nearer than the first call, but still somewhere out of sight. More growls were heard, and Jack forced down his immediate reaction at the instant of recognition: they were hearing another human being chased by a weevil. And now that human was on the ground, about to be ripped in to. Jack wanted to pelt forward and stop it, but he knew it would be a wasted effort. He had no anti-weevil spray, no weapons...he was not about to beat off a weevil using some oversized metal dart, a broken laptop, and a lead pipe. He doubted he could bring himself to swing that hard and for that long. Not without his thoughts wandering in harmful directions.

Maybe Owen had a point. Maybe Jack wasn't human, despite everything he felt, everything he experienced. Jack's hopes, his worries...none of them made him human. What had he fooled himself when he came to the convincing conclusion immortality was the only thing that separated him from humanity? He really _wasn't_ human. Could a human just stand here and listen to a man die? Was he truly human with his indifference and uncaring? Probably not, he reasoned. He wasn't natural, he didn't belong here.

Yet he could never leave.

Jack started forward, hell bent on the rash, humanistic thing to do. Just stepping into a situation where he had the slimmest odds of success, and hope that by sheer will power, he'd come out swinging.

"Jack? What are you doing?" Gwen watched him walking steadily away, eyes immense.

He didn't answer, he didn't turn around. He just kept walking, hands in pockets.

"Oh God please _nooooooooo_—" The "no" turned into an agonized howl, a high wail clinging to sounds of tearing flesh. Death strummed out a tune with that single pitch, creating a demented symphony of cracking bones and successful cries of a predator well fed. These sounds of the dying sidled between Jack and Gwen, caressed their frantic hearts and traipsed along the impassive walls.

This redefined insanity.

Jack saw a break in the wall, indicating a turn off into another passage. He slowed, and as he reached the space, he moved in a wide arc so that he could, hopefully, observe and have a few more calculated seconds of decision. Once he reached the opening, everything confirmed itself: there was, indeed, a weevil, and it was fiercely biting into the chest of the downed man. A muffled gag from behind Jack pricked his awareness of Gwen having followed. He almost sighed with frustration. Instead, he charged at the weevil.

Gwen watched, disbelieving, mouth hanging open, as Jack ran at the weevil. He shouted much the way he had shouted after he ploughed into the villager's home with a tractor, and the rage in the sound made Gwen shiver. She knew Jack was capable, but to actually _see_ it...was something else entirely. Something she hoped she wouldn't have to experience again.

Jack further surprised her when he lunged at the weevil, grabbing for its head. It swatted at him and left claw marks running from one cheek, over his nose, and to the other; Jack only yelled louder and leapt forward again. This time, he managed to get both hands around the weevil's neck. The weevil was not about to give up its kill, and so it kicked at Jack. But the captain had expected it, and, smiling in an unsettling, mad way, he deftly twisted the creature's neck, snapping it. The weevil slumped sideways with a twitch of the hands, and then remained still. Jack stood, panting slightly, and looked back at Gwen. Gwen realized her whole body shook. Either witnessing that fury or such a brutal attack had her quaking. Gwen didn't dwell on the thoughts. Both where perturbing.

Gwen opened her mouth to speak, but Jack wagged a finger at her. She turned away from him for a moment, looking anywhere but at the mangled body and the murdered weevil.

"Gwen, come here."

Could she trust him?

Of course she could, she wasn't the one tearing into a person.

Gwen carefully avoided the corpses and stood next to Jack, facing down the opposite end of the hall. She tried not to be _too_ conspicuous about ignoring the bodies.

"It was Burney Harris."

"What?"

"The weevil, it killed Burney Harris."

"Oh."

"And this was in his pocket."

"Burney's?"

"No, the weevil's," Jack remarked with...light...sarcasm.

Gwen glanced sideways at his eyes, trying to pick out any emotion in them. She found it too difficult to clearly identify a particular one. So she took the square of what appeared to be paper from Jack. When she grabbed it, her fingertips met something slightly sticky; a photograph. Gwen quickly turned it over, and nearly sank to the floor.

It was a Polaroid snapshot of Rhys, tied to something that appeared to be a table leg. Cloth sat in his mouth, and a bandana shrouded his eyes. The only relief was that there wasn't any blood on him.

None that was visible.

Gwen started to shake her head.

"No, that can't be Rhys."

But she knew it was, and she knew she would not be able to convince herself otherwise.

Instead of comprehending the truth, she ran.

Some form of awareness told her this was stupid, to just go dashing off. She had no way of telling what may wait around a corner, or in a swatch of darkness. A missing floor, deadly spikes, stairs, creatures of any sort. Running around blindly was as likely to kill her as any of the tasks.

That same part of her mind telling her she was being a complete fool cautioned her to slow, and she did. She had come to a dead end, a grey slab of wall as unfriendly as the others, unpromising, useless. Except this one had splashes of red, off setting the bland, dirty scene around it. Gwen vaguely registered Jack standing next to her.

"You have got to be fucking kidding me."

* * *

HA! What is on the wall? 

Okay, faithful readers and reviewers. We're nearing the end, as I'm sure you can tell. This is part 1 of the finale chapter! Part 2 coming in a few days. Although, reviews will make me want to write it faster. "subtle hint"


	13. 13

Bundles of thank you's to **DeMarcos**. Helped greatly and put up with all my teasing and evil IM plotting! (I swear, it is _so_ worth it.)

Enjoy.

* * *

_Trick me Twice. _

_Shame on You._

Red letters, thick, steady. Mocking. Lying on the face of the wall, sniggering at Gwen and her foolishness. She emitted a shrill laugh, almost a shriek. She turned to Jack, gesticulating at the words with little noises of incredulity. Then, in the span of time it takes to dial a well-known phone number, she was laughing hysterically, hands visibly shaking. Whether it be from terror or the manic giggling, Jack could not tell; he realized she had finally digressed to shock.

"Do you see that, Jack? Ha! 'Trick me twice!' That's great! Just perfect! What was the first one, huh? _What did I do wrong_?!" She dropped to her knees, holding the photo of Rhys in trembling hands. She started sobbing, drawing ragged gasps of chilly air. Clear, globular tears marched down her dirty cheeks, reintroducing the skin beneath to the quiet halls.

Jack tasted blood in his mouth and dragged a hand across the stinging lacerations, wiping the ensanguined palm on the side of his ripped coat. His head _really_ hurt now. The cut from the barbed wire, the whack to the head, and now this! At least his nose hadn't broken.

He wanted to comfort her, but knew she would only shun him, yelling accusations that were painfully true. He would have to acknowledge the one thing: this endeavor was entirely his fault. Someone _he_ had pissed off, someone _he_ had encountered, someone _he_ had known. That could be the only reason for their subjection to this torture. It was because of Jack that Ianto had possibly irreparable damage to his leg, Jack's fault Tosh snapped, Jack's fault Rhys was bound and gagged, and by likely happenstance dead.

Everything, his fault. It could all have been prevented if he was simply...less of a problem. Maybe he should just leave Gwen to her uncertain lamentations, go get himself tangled in that razor wire. Let the rest of them move on without him, stop hindering them with his _wrong_ existence.

But he'd still be a burden, no matter what he did.

At this point, the most effective thing he could do was walk away. Gwen wouldn't want to be alone in this foreign environment. Abandonment equaled being alone, and any solitary person in this place schlepped a risky existence. Jack almost loathed to do it, but their lack of escape stretched far beyond irksome at this point. They all needed to get out, Owen and Ianto especially, the former of which had done a remarkable job of hiding how painful those rat bites actually were. Jack would have to thank him, somehow, for everything he had done so far.

Assuming any of them lived.

Jack's eyes lingered on Gwen's trembling shoulders for a fraction of a moment before he turned and walked back the way they had come.

Ignoring Gwen and striding off proved to be difficult. Guilt pranced around his navel, fierce in its renewed strength. Jack straightened his back and buried his hands in his pockets, determined not to return to the softly crying Gwen. This _would_ work, she would _not_ stay on the floor, and he _did_ have a legitimate reason for doing this. It in no way was cruel, it was being responsible. Nothing else he could do would make her come, except something this devastating.

_Was_ it devastating? Did that make it base, too? Perhaps deserting her was cowardly, an easy thing to do. Had he really fallen so far that he could honestly walk away from one of his teammates without so much as a backward glance? No. Drastic situations called for brash actions. Gwen wanted to run off without thinking of the consequences, then he could stroll onward in a ploy for her movement.

Besides, this was a no-rules game, wasn't it?

Jack sighed and shook his head, passing a hand wearily across his face. He glanced over his shoulder to see if Gwen had followed him, but she remained stationary, looking at the photograph in her lap. Jack shook his head and faced forward once more.

And walked into something very cold and very solid. He stumbled back, hands flailing from his pockets as he strove for balance. He managed to catch himself on the left wall. He rubbed at the side of his head that had come into contact with the wall...that...had...not been there a moment ago.

"_What_?"

x X x

"Where did Jack go?" Ianto's voice barely pitched above a whisper. Exhaustion laced the feeble question, parading Ianto's state of consciousness, or lack thereof. This, unfortunately, hampered what little progress they could make.

"I wish I knew." Owen sighed and worked Ianto a bit higher so that his right leg remained free from contact with the ground. The slightest jarring risked shifting the metal rod, and the last thing Owen wanted was to have Ianto bleeding all over the place. Obnoxious mess that would be. Blood wasn't the easiest thing to get out of clothes.

Owen shook his head, annoyed more than anything else. What made Jack think dashing off after questionable noise was logical? And Gwen, the noob puppy, _had_ to follow him. Completely idiotic, rash, and unfair. Just abandoning him to heft Ianto all by his lonesome, with only a vague idea of where nearly half the team had gone. _And_ leaving him with Toshiko and her disturbing, silent presence. Utterly inappropriate for the situation. They were all together; separating now, so close to a finish, seemed totally illogical.

Yet, it happened. Owen knew he could do nothing to amend the situation.

So, with animosity towards the newbie and the captain, Owen started forward. Ianto, groaned and shifted minutely, weakly. Owen pulled the tea boy's left arm around his shoulder, supporting most of Ianto's sagging weight. Even with his normal annoyance towards the other man, the itty-bittiest granule of concern poked between Owen's ears. An injury like this did not heal quickly, or easily for that matter; Owen's rough calculation pegged recovery time at four months, in the least. Ianto would —undoubtedly— require major surgery, and need to spend approximately seven weeks in the hospital, having his bone slowly readjusted with a rack... Not an inexpensive process, either. It almost hurt Owen's head to think about all the paperwork and bills that would need sorting through, seeing as Ianto wasn't going to be able to do it any time soon.

Ahead of him, Toshiko walked mutely, spike gleaming dully in the grungy lights. One hand still snaked around her laptop, pinning the incorrigible computer against her chest. Her rigid back hinted she harbored more awareness of the situation than her previous actions suggested. In reality, she had been cognizant of everything from the start. She was merely unable to properly act upon her knowledge; she seemed driven by something invisible and unstoppable.

Toshiko had very poor control of her actions.

And that frightened her.

Fear made people do stupid things, such as bludgeoning a weevil and heedlessly walking through a web of razor wire. Fear conquered logic and shared throne with compulsion, bred with instinct. Rationality fled with reason to be replaced by the asinine and the improbable. Control of any intelligent functions became the responsibility of the amygdalae: actions fuled by emotion, resulting in rash decisions, leading to delicately precarious situations. Fear put people in danger. And by putting people in danger, they became nervous, and eventually panicy. Then the whole destructive cycle started anew, and one more person was completely fucked.

Tosh wished she could have prevented it, wished she could force herself to stop advancing, longed _desperately_ to regain control. _Lobus frontalis_, however, had skipped off on a nice holiday to Cancun and left _corpus amygdaloideum_ the keys to the flat. And the lizard brain was notorious for throwing the most outrageous parties with guest lists ranging anywhere from Misery and Recklessness to Levity and Aphrodisia. The ensuing emotional mess gave decade-old axle grease a run for its grime. The whole ordeal made for many used Kleenex, canceled therapy appointments, general self-pity and abundant cursing of existence.

Somewhere, in a few deep, miraculously unscathed synapses, the instruction for Toshiko to look left rode out, turned her head. By that action, she saw the fallen weevil and the torn-up human corpse, carpeted with blood and bone fragments. How odd the weevil looked: no blood anywhere except where it had clawed into the chest of that poor bloke, no sign of physical injury damaging enough to kill it.

But its neck did have an absurd cant to it. Which obviously meant it had been snapped...Was this where Jack had gone?

Toshiko scoffed. Of course it was. No one else could be down here to make the noise he had followed. Or to kill the weevil, and she doubted Gwen would do this. Most likely the former copper wasn't even capable of something that required such strength.

Well, she could at least rule out Jack or Gwen being dead: the eviscerated corpse before her was evidently male, and far too lanky to be Jack. She also could conclude that down this hall was the only possible direction in which Gwen and Jack had traveled.

Tosh released an unsteady breath and started forward.

Back down the main corridor, Owen grumbled obscenities and resisted the urge to simply drag Ianto along behind him. Would have been _so _much simpler. But since he couldn't _quite_ bring himself to be that inhumane, Owen reaffirmed his hold on Ianto and limped forward. His own feet, however, were increasingly difficult to ignore: the numbness from the disinfectant had worn off long ago to be replaced by a thin, hot pulsating throb. Petulance danced in tandem with the acidic licks of pain.

Owen looked up, saw Tosh disappear into what seemed to be a branching passage.

"Toshiko!" he called in vexation. Carrying Ianto was becoming increasingly irritating. The hell if he would be responsible for the tea boy the entire time.

Toshiko neither responded nor reemerged from the diverging hall.

"C'mon, Tosh! Gimme a hand with Ianto!"

Still no response and no appearance. Owen scoffed, shook his head, and started forward once more.

"Bollocks, all of it."

"And you're not the one with a piece of metal through your femur."

Owen chuckled dryly at Ianto's pathetically feeble attempt at humor.

"Where'd Tosh go?"

"Just up ahead, mate. Looking for bloody Harkess. I swear, if that man didn't sign my paychecks..." Less-than-playful contempt embroidered Owen's tone. Ianto smiled to himself and attempted to shift his focus away from his leg.

The pain of it was...indescribable. Enervation pressed heavily upon him, raping his strength and debilitating him. At least the femoral artery remained intact: it allowed him to marginally escape death for a while longer. And, with hope, he could rely on three fifths of the team to deal with whatever happened.

Owen's thoughts were much the same as he came to the gap in the wall.

"Toshiko, you better have a good reason...for..." Owen trailed off when he saw the dead weevil and massacred corpse.

Had _Tosh_ done this?

_Again_?

No, she couldn't have...the weevil still had its head.

"What?" Owen sounded disbelieving. Toshiko didn't look as if she would answer him.

Not really wanting to test Toshiko's patience, Owen backed off to the wall at his back, setting Ianto against it. Then he walked cautiously forward again, stopping on the opposite side of the mangled human.

"It's Burey Harris," Tosh deadpanned.

"What? What are you talking about?"

Toshiko nodded at the body between them.

"That, dead at your feet, is Burney Harris."

Owen sent her an uncertain look before glancing southwards.

It indeed was Burney, _sans_ most of his chest.

So this was what those sounds were...

"Any sign of Harkness?"

"No."

Toshiko abruptly turned her back to him and started walking down the hall. Owen sighed and doubled back to retrieve Ianto. This entire situation had become unbelievably irksome. Not only had Jack just _dashed_ off, but Toshiko was being a complete, unresponsive, impassive stick in the mud. _And_ he was stuck carrying Ianto. Jack better have a damn good reason for not doing it. It seemed unlike the captain to not be the first to offer his services. Well, Owen reasoned, he had nearly collapsed when he picked Ianto up that first time...

The bites on Owen's feet twinged.

Ianto (unsurprisingly) had not even made an attempt to shift during Owen's brief absence. If anything, he appeared paler and more unaware than any previous time. His pasty complexion made flagrant incompatibility with the grey of the wall behind him; his eyes hovered, barely closed, shallow breathing nearly inaudible. Owen debated whether to move him again, or tell Tosh to go look for Jack and bring him back here. Ianto could probably remain conscious for a while longer; Owen was more worried about pressure building from a blood clot. The potential of Ianto's leg being ruined steadily grew the longer they stayed here. Owen wouldn't be comfortable until they were out.

He would never be comfortable again. Not after this.

Owen stood still for a moment, biting his tongue. He closed his eyes and pulled in a deep breath of faintly cold air. When he released it, he opened his eyes to see Ianto pointing behind him.

"What?"

"The wall is moving."

x X x

Toshiko stared at the wall as it swung silently across the hall, effectively separating her from Ianto and Owen.

For a moment, uncertainty skipped across the nape of her neck. This made even less sense than everything else thus far. Moving, noiseless walls. How were they doing that? _Why?_ What was the purpose of separating them? Why do that so late in the game, after they had all been herded together? It seemed illogical, not at all following the vague form the whole rest of this thing had.

She abandoned that line of thought when she saw the black square the wall revealed. The velvety color belied solidity; the cold air spoke otherwise. Chilled, it gave the impression of diffusing from a large, open area. It felt much like the air garnered from a night of leaving open the bedroom window. Toshiko shivered and wrapped her arms around herself, wishing she had a blanket.

No, she only possessed her ruined computer and a growing dislike toward weevils.

She stepped forward, and overhead lights buzzed on. They revealed a short passageway, or what appeared to be so; the space ten yards ahead of her was only partially visible. However, from the looks of it, the one thing it could be was a room.

Toshiko walked forward tentatively. She held the metal rod aloft, ready for anything that may jump out at her. Her laptop remained firm against her chest, a crippled shield to defend rising consternation. Anything could lie beyond the lights. More god _damned_ weevils, death. A surprise, no doubt, whatever it would end up being. But what Tosh feared the most was another challenge, another test. The way she saw it, they had all had enough, and anything after this point was unnecessary. It fell only a lamb shy of torture. She didn't think she could do it alone.

Breathing deeply, licking her bottom lip with a dry tongue, Toshiko stopped at the boundary of light. She did not particularly want to discover what lay in the dim chamber before her, but knew there would be no avoiding the situation. She had the feeling that hers wasn't the only wall that moved.

_Trapped_.

Tosh hesitated, lingering on comfortable uncertainty.

She lifted one foot and put it gingerly down a few inches before her. She thought it promising when nothing immediately severed her foot.

Toshiko flinched as a large central light burst on above her. She noticed the snarling then. Her focus was drawn to the floor, where grid work spread to the opposite end of the room. On the three-foot-by-three-foot squares were various human body parts: fingers, tongues, whole hands, eyes, ears, teeth, toes. Hearts. And some large chunks of a grey color. Toshiko tried not to look at them.

A small, dull silver cassette player lounged at the fringe of the grid floor.

"You see before you my own version of Sudoku. However, mine has a few exceptions. It has been filled in for you. All you need to do is figure out which row is incorrect."

"I hope one of you knows this game well, lest the innocent suffer."

Toshiko looked down with wide eyes at the center of the grid: someone hung from the bottom, hands and feet tied to the holey underbelly. He was just out of reach of the angered weevils. Toshiko could see him shaking, even from where she stood. The back of her mind wondered who it could be, while the front worried about how she could get across and keep herself and this random man alive.

Did it really matter if he lived?

No.

Toshiko didn't think about it twice as she flung her computer to the ground and sprinted forward.

She expected any and every square to topple her to the awaiting weevils. Hell, She wouldn't be surprised if a whole _row_ gave out. It didn't matter to her anymore. She only wanted out, and she did _not_ care if she almost died doing so. Or if someone else did, too. What difference did it make if she died now or in seventy years?

It made _no_ difference.

Better to die almost free than live an eternity imprisoned.

Or insane.

It didn't matter in the slightest, because Toshiko heard an agonized howl as the anonymous man fell, and the grid beneath her feet ceased to be solid.

She landed on her feet. Pinching vibrations traveled up her legs, and she fell on to her backside. Her elbows hit the ground painfully, and she ended up flat on her back. From behind her came noises of ripping flesh and quarrelling weevils.

Toshiko rolled over and sat up, pushing quickly to her feet. She readied herself for attack, held the metal spike as if it were a dagger. For the situation, it could change its identity. No longer was it an elongated dart spit from a wall bordering a razor maze: it was a life-saving tool, an instrument of rationally sanctioned death for members of an alien race. It wrought her passage to survival.

Something grabbed at her ankle and she instinctively kicked out, shouting as she did so. The weevil made a garbled sound of pain as her foot connected with its nose. Toshiko flipped onto her back before another could touch her.

Well, she had _almost_ made it to the other side of the room; she was barely eight feet from the wall. And there weren't as many weevils as she had first estimated. There couldn't be more than eight, three of which were still fighting over the poor bloke. The poor bloke that was in that position solely because of her.

But that didn't make her a murderer. Just insensitive. Desperate to survive.

Indifferent. Uncaring. Impassive.

This man dying had no affect on her.

Toshiko glanced behind her, and, seeing nothing lethally hindering her path, backed into the wall. Perhaps she could evade them long enough to figure a way to get back up through the fallen grid square nine feet above her.

However, even she could not fool herself _that_ completely. The weevils would come to her eventually.

And it was, unfortunately, sooner than later. Two of the weevils not occupied with feasting advanced towards her, twisting their heads as they walked. Their lips pulled back, exposing the vicious teeth. Toshiko had the suspicion they were smelling her, determining how scared she was. She didn't know if she was scared or not. She didn't know much of anything at that point. Toshiko lingered no more: a carnal human now existed. Where Toshiko had been logical, she was now bestial.

Thoughtless.

Toshiko snorted through flared nostrils and charged.

She saw red. Whether it was from the blood flying every which way or the uncontrollable rage, she could not tell, and most likely never would. Killing to live was the only thing in her awareness, her only focus. She could be murdering primary school children for all she knew. So blind were her actions, that she only stopped when she heard a noise above her: a human voice.

Toshiko looked upwards, panting. The air stank of blood; the freshly dead weevil corpses still steamed with dying heat.

"Congratulations."

The man knelt on the edge of the missing grid work and extended a rope down to her. Toshiko took it tentatively, still clutching at her stained silver rod.

When she stood on solid ground once more, the man smiled at her.

"I want to play a game."

x X x

Jack glared at the grey slab before him. That wall had most _definitely _not existed when they came down here. And there were no turns of deviating passages he could have stepped in to; he could still see Gwen. It was entirely impossible that there should be a wall here, in the middle of the path...

"Jack? What...that wall wasn't there earlier."

"I know."

Gwen stood, hiccupping, and came to stand beside him. She put her hand on the wall. She pressed it a few times, hard enough to rock her back on her feet the slightest bit. A frown drew upon her features. She turned away from the immovable wall and walked slowly, in a gradual circle. The whole time, looking at the picture of Rhys.

"What's the point of separating us all at this point? I thought we were all supposed to be together."

"Maybe that's what he wanted us to think."

"Maybe he never wanted us to escape."

She looked up at him. Jack turned his head away before she could make eye contact.

"So, what can we do?"

Jack shrugged. "Any ideas?"

"We could try that door over there."

Jack raised an eyebrow in question; Gwen pointed at the new wall. To the right of it was a door, also not there previously.

"The door it is. After you," he said the last with a little half-bow. Gwen smiled wryly.

"How 'bout not."

It caught him off guard. "Alright."

He stepped up to the door knob and turned it. The door resisted being opened, and Jack had to give it a little kick with the side of his foot before it sprang inwards.

Gwen turn away, shielding her eyes as two incandescent lights burst on, illuminating the large room. They forced focus to the thing in the middle of the cement floor: a glass tank resembling a small above-ground pool. The water filling it was just below clear; if you squinted you could make out the faint curve of the other side.

Ten yards to the left of the tub was a platform much like the one from their previous tasks. This one had a set of four stairs leading to a much more stable-looking landing. At the end opposite the stairs, a padlocked door ranked sentinel. The space on the right if the tank lay barren, an expanse of sullen grey floor not unlike the inside of a fresh crypt.

An unbidden whip of dread spiked through Jack's heart, compacting his chest in an uncomfortable way. Uncertainty bled in to cold dread. There had to be some cruel logic to this; something would prevent him from stepping in, doing every task himself to protect his team. But, Jack thought, they weren't children. They themselves willingly chose to endanger themselves every day they came to work.

Fear reigned king, doubt its spawn. Here there was no Captain Jack Harkness, there was no Torchwood. It was only five humans trapped by their inabilities and inhibited by their loyalty to life. All their petty titles and trivial doings meant absolutely nothing. They had no control. He had no control. He was...helpless.

They would have to fight for escape. But in doing so, they needed to stay within the manipulated boundaries their psychotic host erected. It would be pointless to rebel against the person who knew what would come next; shooting a cancer patient will not change the way he died.

"Jack."

Gwen held a small cassette player. Jack growled at it.

"Play it."

"Hello Torchwood, and welcome to your final test. To your left is the door leading to the safe, outside world, the world you work so hard to protect. You, however, know this world is not the only one. You alone handle the filth and scum of outside planets and times. Your little quintet is the only thing keeping the greater majority of the populace learning about the outside universe and its vast influence here. You, Captain Harkness, are a lie in and of yourself. Your name is a fallacy, your very existence the opposite of honesty."

"Torchwood is corrupt. You are aliens of the earth. It is time you...reconnect with your humanity."

Gwen's grip slackened on the tape player; Jack gently took it from her shaking hands.

"Before you is a tank of water. At the bottom is the key to unlock the one door remaining between you and the civil world. It seems simple. But only one member of your team can participate in this. If the water is displaced by two people, both inside the tank will receive a lethal shock, as will any subsequent bodies. You have fifteen minutes to retrieve the key. By that time, things may be a little...steamy."

Jack clicked the tape off. He smiled at Gwen.

"Well, this shouldn't be too har—"

"You're not going in there."

"What? Gwen, you can't be serious—"

"You've done enough. Besides, if it isn't too difficult, that means I should be able to do it, right?"

"Gwen, you can't expect me to—"

"I don't, and that's why I'm just going to get in there."

She walked to the tank, ignoring Jack's hand on her shoulder.

"I can't let you do this."

"Yes you can."

"Fifteen minutes and things will get steamy. That means either the water will heat up, or the room will catch fire."

"I can get out before then."

Jack sighed, frustrated. "Gwen, we both know that I can survive it no matter what."

"And we both know that you blame yourself for this happening, Jack. I know you think you're the reason why Rhys is probably dead. So just shut the _hell_ up and back off. Unless you want to electrocute me?" Gwen's voice remained dangerously quiet, inviting him to argue.

That indeed was a swift, ruthless blow. Jack didn't know what to make of Gwen's insightfulness. Was he really being that obvious? No, he _couldn't _be. Gwen had not even known him a year, how could she guess the way he thought?

When Jack stayed silent, Gwen smiled. It was a chip-of-glass smile. She jumped, catching onto the edge of the tank. Jack surprised her when he grabbed her by the waist and pushed her upwards. Gwen slipped easily over the side, huffing a little at the unexpected warmth of the water. It made her think of a hot tub with a temperature that was just a _tad_ too high. Uncomfortably warm, skin-reddening after prolonged exposure. Lightheadedness due to heat would be inescapable.

Gwen looked right at Jack. Hesitancy inhabited that stare; Jack nodded, solemn. He wasn't about to deny the truth. Gwen returned the nod, and released her grip on the side of the glass tank, treading water for a moment before diving.

"...chose wisely. I doubt the women will be strong enough to lift the lid once it's closed."

The sound cut out just as husky snickering started.

Jack's eyes snapped back to the tank. Gwen was surfacing, but a rusty screeching sounded from above the tub.

"Gwen! _No_!"

A few hollow bangs came from the tank: Gwen was pounding on the glass. Jack came forward, put his hands up to hers.

"I'll go see if I can lift it!"

Gwen pointed at her ear and shook her head, indicating she couldn't hear him. He gestured "never mind" at her and loped to the back of the tank. She followed his movements, swimming alongside and hitting the glass occasionally.

"Stop moving!" he shouted, making heavy emphasis in his lip movements, hoping she would understand. She did, halting her movements and floating in place.

Upon coming to the back of the tank, Jack hauled himself onto the top. There were huge hinges where the lid moved. He walked over the part that had sealed Gwen off from her exit, all the time conscious that she could boil to death.

Once at the front edge, he realized there would be no way he could get the right leverage to lift the lid. Not without being inside, or having a second person to aid from without. He looked over the edge, searching for anything that could help. Anything like a stick...

Like Gwen's pipe. Gwen's _lead_ pipe that he could use to break the glass.

Jack gave the idea the amount of thought one gives to leaping in front of traffic to save a child, then jump down, scooping up the pipe. He motioned Gwen to swim back from the side; she was barely a yard from the transparent border when he rushed at it, yelling as he swung the pipe. The hell if he was going to let Gwen die in a vat of hot water.

The pipe connected with a deep _thunk_, and a long crack appeared. Jack whacked the side again: more cracks spread from the first, spider-webbing in every direction. The glass encasing the water-trap uttered a deep, reluctant groan. Jack stood back, panting slightly. Without waiting to see if it would give on its own, the fervent captain drove the dented pipe into the wounded side, concentrating all the force he possessed into that blow.

Water spurted in a steady stream from the center of cracks. But it did not remain singular long: soon the clear liquid gushed from every long fissure.

Jack threw the pipe into the center of the white, bleeding nest and stepped aside as it exploded outward. He waited, tense, for Gwen to be reachable. The instant she came near the hole, Jack leapt forward, catching her around one arm and swinging her away from the glass-littered floor. When she was completely free, he gathered her into his arms and walked quickly towards the platform.

Once he set her down, he knelt at her side, feeling for a pulse.

Not breathing. No heartbeat. No bloodflow.

He held Gwen against his chest, one arm around her back, bracing her by her shoulders.

Then he lowered his lips to hers.

Jack finished when Gwen's eyes shot open. He pulled away with only slightly less-than-obvious reluctance. Gwen's breathing was rapid, shallow, her eyes wide.

Jack smiled at her. "Welcome back."

Gwen returned the smile and held out her closed palm to him. Centered in the red, steaming flesh was a silvery key. Jack pulled Gwen into a tight hug.

"You did good, Gwen. You did good."

x X x

"Why the _fuck_ did that wall move?!" Owen shouted as he pounded said wall. Ianto sighed tiredly from behind him.

Owen snarled at the solid rectangle, punched it. The pain in his hand drew attention away from their hopeless situation. He wanted it to bleed. He wanted something to smear on this obstacle, something lingering to mark his presence there. Something to show he had suffered. Anything to show what he had unwillingly sacrificed, what he would leave here. What he would take away.

"We need to keep moving."

Owen scoffed. "Fat lot of good that'll do us."

"It's better than sitting here and waiting for someone to come along and kill us."

The tea boy had a point.

"Fine." Owen came back to Ianto, pulled him off the ground.

Ianto was being reasonable. The sooner they got out, the better, for both of them. It would do neither of them any good, sitting around. They couldn't know if Jack, Gwen, and/or Toshiko were still alive, separated, or out already. Owen's main concern should be keeping Ianto conscious and further uninjured. Keeping them both alive should be given higher priority than worrying about teammates he may never see again.

Owen sincerely hoped that wouldn't happen. He disliked admitting it, but he'd miss all of them. He'd even miss _Ianto_, were he not to survive his injury. Torchwood...was his family. They all shared experiences, they could all talk about alien existence, hypothesize, and not be called lunatics. Even if they never did. The option was still present.

You couldn't just _work_ for Torchwood. You became ingrained in its dealings. All things alien centralized this mini-community. Danger catalyzed their relationships.

But now was not the time to dwell upon the intricacies. Breathing and living. Focus.

Owen glanced behind them. No sense going that way. They both knew the only thing there was the wire passage. _Definitely _not something they needed to do again. The only remaining option was traveling forward.

The hall before them had no remarkable differences from prior ones. It went on at a distance of roughly thirty yards, before the lights dimmed and it became difficult to tell whether or not it curved. Owen didn't think it mattered if it curved, split, or dead-ended. He didn't put much stock in the chance that they would ever leave this place. It seemed ongoing: turning, walking, task. Dark, hole in the floor, challenge, more walking, more turning, more dark. Another task.

God, he dreaded another task.

"Owen, slow down."

"Sorry," he replied automatically. Probably only the second apology he ever gave Ianto. The only sincere one.

"Don't worry about it."

"Jack would worry." _Why_ had he said that?

Ianto snorted. "Jack isn't here."

"Oh, really? I hadn't noticed."

"_That's_ the Owen Harper I'm used to."

Owen scoffed and didn't reply. He kept his focus forward, wanting and despising to reach that shadowy end. He told himself not to expect anything. Well, not to expect an exit. Anticipate another attempt on his life, another trap, another step closer to death. An inch closer to that fine line between sanity and insanity. A line he doubted he wouldn't cross.

When they came closer, Owen nearly shouted in irritation. The corridor curved left. But...it slanted upwards? Like...a..._ramp_? The kind that, when going up, meant higher ground. Which meant above ground. Outside. Where people and hospitals and planes and dogs and bananas and orange-mint flavored bubblegum was? As in, not here, but in the sane world were men could _almost_ marry each other and Harold Saxon was running for Prime Minister?

No, it couldn't be. Not that simple. Just a bloody ramp?

Maybe...

No. He would just have to keep forward and see what lurked around the corner.

His smothered eagerness got the better of him and he sped up. Ianto feebly protested; Owen ignored him. By the time they reached the corner, Owen more carried than supported Ianto. Ianto closed his eyes, almost certain Owen would drop him in his haste. When they rounded the corner and Owen's ramp theory was confirmed, he let out a strangled noise of triumph. The unchecked sound of a man inexpressibly relieved of death.

A door stood at the top of the gentle incline. A door with no apparent locks, chains, or questionable equipment surrounding it. Ianto glanced up at the ceiling: nothing but a stripe of perishing fluorescents.

Happiness lightened him. They really would make it out.

Owen halted at the door, looking at it with his head cocked to one side.

"Well, what are you waiting for? An invitation from the Queen?" Ianto said with impatience.

Owen shook himself, pushed on the metal bar running horizontally. It bent down with squealing ease. But the door did not move.

"Oh come _on_!"

Owen kicked the door; it sounded caught on something.

"Locked, from the outside."

"No shit, Sherlock!"

He kicked it again, put his foot down, breathed deeply. Gathered more force and slammed into the metal. Still no give. Ianto slid his arm off Owen's shoulder and stood, swaying precariously. Owen wasted no time in running at the door and bashing it with his shoulder.

After three more tries and a noticeable dent, the door popped open. Owen stumbled, bringing his hands up to his eyes. Daylight. _Daylight_!

Hastily, he gathered up Ianto. Together, they emerged into a cramped alleyway lined with garbage.

Ianto thought it beautiful.

x X x

Gwen chuckled. "Can we please just get out of here?"

Jack grinned down at her. "Of course."

He stood, bringing Gwen with him, in his arms. She pushed at his chest, indicating to be set down.

"I want to _walk_ away from this."

Jack, complying, set her down. He walked before her, slid the key into the padlock. Removed the lock and unwound the chain. Pushed open the door and was nearly knocked over as Gwen bolted past him. Light. Sunlight. Daylight shadowed by tall buildings; an alley.

As a person walked by on the sidewalk, Gwen fell to her knees and wept at how gorgeous this narrow stretch of pavement was. Sandwiched between two boarded-up buildings, perfectly normal. A part of a city. A part of civilization.

Jack lurched out, blinking against the brilliant, natural light. He watched as fresh tears streamed down Gwen's cheeks; her eyes were to the clouded sky. A smile danced across her lips. Jack smiled too, freshly uncertain of what the hell to do. They were out. Nothing else life threatening was required of them. Safe.

A metallic bang startled him so thoroughly, he fell against the cold wall of one of the buildings.

"What was that?"

Jack shook his head. "Sounds like it came from the next alley over."

Gwen's eyes widened. "Owen! Ianto!" she cried as she leapt to her feet, stumbling as she up to speed. She sprinted to the mouth of the alley and disappeared to the right.

Jack sighed and ran after her.

By the time he made it to the entrance of their alley, Gwen was already jogging around the corner of the other building into the neighboring alleyway. He quickened his pace, lengthened his stride. For all he knew, that bang could be their tormentor coming out to _actually_ kill them.

But when he came around the corner, the only thing he saw was Gwen embracing first Owen, then Ianto. It was almost more than he could take. It seemed too...unreal. Too _normal._ This...this couldn't be the end. Just letting them walk away? He tilted his head upwards, closed his eyes. A few drops of rain landed on his face.

He tried not to flinch.


	14. Aslyum Prologue

Sneak peek! Preview! A diamond in the rough! The one thing—::is slapped by muse::

Well, here's a little teaser bit for the upcoming sequel, "Asylum." To be released very soon, and, _hopefully_, I can actually have a proper updating schedule...

* * *

They only managed to travel a few blocks before someone noticed them. The Good Samaritan had taken a long, blinking look at them before fumbling with his mobile and calling for an ambulance. Jack had tried to give the man valid reasons why they did _not_ need medical assistance, but the stranger would have none of it.

"Look, mate. You're bleeding all over the place, he's got something through his bloody _leg_, and _she_ looks about ready to collapse. Now, I don't care what happened. It's honestly none of my business. But you lot need to go to a hospital."

"You don't understand. . ."

"I probably don't. But that doesn't change any of your current states, does it?"

Jack was preparing a threatening retort when sirens moaned around the corner behind them. Gwen turned around and smiled as the police car stopped a few yards from the small group; the ambulance bypassed it and halted closer to Owen and the sagging Ianto. Two paramedics jumped out, one going for the back to open the double doors. It took some coaxing to convince Owen to release Ianto into the care of one of the paramedics; the other put a hand on Owen's upper back and guided him to the vehicle, gesturing at Owen's bare, bandaged, dirty and bloodied feet.

Jack didn't know if he could deal with this. Not _now_. The trip to the hospital, the inevitable questions, staving off reporters and concerned medical personel. Hearing just how bad the damage to Ianto's leg was, being yelled at by Owen. Seeing Gwen's crushed, lost expression for the uncertain hours they would be waiting.

He looked up. A lean lady cop had an arm around Gwen's shoulders; Gwen was sobbing something about Rhys and Toshiko. The man who had spotted the bedraggled Torchwood Three eyed Jack with minor suspicion. Jack thought the man suspected he would run.

So he did, before anyone would take too much notice of his absence.

"Jack?"

Gwen called, one foot already in the passenger's side of the police car.

Jack didn't look back as he walked away. He couldn't face them. Not yet.

Not after his failure to protect them, to save them. To save Tosh, to prevent any of this happening. All of it, his fault. The remaining, one thing that put the in danger. Constantly. Him.

The only way to keep them safe was to leave.

He had just one problem.

Getting from London to Cardiff.

Well, he'd gone farther than that without cash, clothes, _or_ a phone, in previous. . ._adventures. _Still, he didn't look forward to the hundred-fifty odd miles back to Cardiff.

"Jack!" Gwen shouted this time. If he didn't move quickly, and _now_, someone else would call more public services, and escape would be even more difficult.

"Bloody Harkness," Owen grumbled, stepping out of the ambulance. "Do you have any sedatives in this thing?"

The older paramedic raised his thick eyebrows. "Yeah, but y'can't use 'em—"

"On the contrary, I can. Dr. Owen Harper, Torchwood. Give me one, _now_, or he—" Owen jerked a thumb at the retreating captain, "will get away."

The paramedic shook his head. "Sorry mate, no."

"Owen, you said?" The younger of the medical team, his blonde hair tied in a short ponytail, stood blocking any way for Owen to leave. "Hop in, we need to get your friends to a hospit—"

"But Jack needs to be seen to! And he's just _walking_ off! If—"

"Sir, get in or _I_ will sedate you," the older medic threatened, glancing down at Ianto.

Owen rolled his eyes, crossed his arms, and walked towards the police car.

"If it won't crush your precious hearts, I'll go with them."


End file.
